


Lay Me Down

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Series: And So It Goes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ... It was research?, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Canon-Typical Violence, Doctor John, Eventual Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Helpful Lestrade, Hurt Sherlock, I don't know how to tag?, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, John Loves Sherlock, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mary Dies, Offscreen Violence, Past Torture, Rimming, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock tells John about his time away, Sherlock's Voice is Sexy, Top John Watson, Virgin Sherlock but with extensive knowledge about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the plane got turned around Sherlock, John, and Mary went to hunt down Moriarty.  Mary was killed in the process (baby Watson is fine).  This is what happens after and how John and Sherlock finally admit they're in love.</p>
<p>More tags to be added as I finish the story, I'm crap at writing summaries and coming up with titles (this one was borrowed from Sam Smith, obviously).</p>
<p>Update: This work is now part of a series (And So It Goes)!  The next work is titled (You're) The Fire and the Flood for those interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction (although I have read many) tagging proved particularly challenging for me as did writing a summary, so sorry about that. 
> 
> Chapters alternate between John and Sherlock's perspectives but the plot continues, you won't be reading the same set of circumstances twice through different perspectives or anything.
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd or brit-picked so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Additionally, the characters do not belong to me and I am making no profit from this work. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this even half as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

_Sherlock_

 

The first thing Sherlock registered was his inability to formulate thoughts.  This was an entirely abnormal, and perhaps unprecedented, experience for him.  He began taking a (slow) mental stock of himself.  His throat felt raw, his entire body felt like it had been dragged over hot coals, and his head was throbbing; he tried to open his eyes to see where he was but his eyelids felt glued together.  Vaguely, he was aware of a woman’s voice; he couldn’t process any of the words but she sounded desperate, like she was pleading for something.  Where was he?  He pushed back into his memories; he had been tracking Moriarty with John and Mary.  They had been trying to find him for the past eight months after Sherlock’s plane had been turned around and he had touched back down on the runway with a profound sense of relief.  Mary and John had their baby girl and in spite of Sherlock and John’s protests Mary insisted on leaving Evelyn with Mrs. Hudson so she could help them track Moriarty claiming that she had practical experience which Sherlock had deduced after being shot and John had firmly pushed from his mind because he didn’t want to know.  They had been close, Sherlock remembered; the last thing he could recall was standing in an abandoned warehouse; John and Mary both had their guns raised and....

In a flash everything came back to him; they’d been ambushed.  The warehouse had been crawling with men; _stupid.  Stupid._ He berated himself.  Why hadn’t they waited for Lestrade or Mycroft?

The voice was the next thing that came into focus.  It was Mary, she was crying; begging John and Sherlock to wake up.  She was in trouble, _they_ were in trouble.  Sherlock forced himself to open his eyes, to sit up, he couldn’t let anything happen to either of them.  He took in the cell they were in.  It was a damp basement, bars trapping them from the only exit; he and John were chained to the wall.

“Thank God.”  he heard Mary say; turning toward her voice he saw that she was standing outside of the cell they were in, the manacles on the opposite wall near the door indicated that she had been chained up too but had managed to get out of her bonds.  

“Mary.” he gasped out.  She was in a semtex vest much like the one Moriarty had put John in so many years ago.  He stood, fighting the vertigo and staggered toward Mary.

“Listen to me.” Mary said, shaking her head at him.  “I need you to wake John up.  We haven’t got much time.”  

“John!”  Sherlock bellowed as he staggered toward him, the ringing in his ears worsening; he suspected he had a concussion.  He shook John, seeing that he was coming around.

“Bloody hell.” John groaned.  “What the buggering fuck happened?”

“No time.” Sherlock said, gritting his teeth against the blackness and pain that was threatening to drag him under once more.  “Quickly.” he said pulling John to his feet.

John looked at him, “Sherlock?  You okay?” he slurred, immediately trying to examine him.

Sherlock shook his head, “Mary.  We have to help her, we have to get her out of...”  Sherlock began to say but John was already pushing past him and moving toward the edge of their cell where Mary was standing.

“Bloody hell.  That bastard.” John said reaching for Mary.  “Come over here, love.” he said with the sort of calm that always sent a shiver of fear racing down Sherlock’s spine.  “We’ll get you sorted.” he turned slightly toward Sherlock and barked, “Sherlock, over here.  Now.”

Sherlock hastened to comply but Mary started speaking, “There’s no time for that.” she held a finger up to John’s lips as he started to interrupt her.  “No, listen to me.  There’s no way to disarm this bomb without setting it off.”

“There’s always an off switch, there’s _always_ an off switch.” John assured her turning to Sherlock.  “Turn it off.  Just like the one on the train.”

Mary shook her head.  “There’s not an off switch on the ones where the bomber is meant to die.” she said softly.  “There’s good news, though.” she said.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, trying desperately to think, to deduce; what could she possibly have found about this situation that was good?

“I’ve picked the locks.  I can get out of here.”  she smiled at John and looked up at him through tear filled eyes.  “I know you don’t know a lot about my past, and that was for the best; but I know where we are and I know where Moriarty is.  I know what the plan was; I’m going to leave and I’m going to kill the bastard.”

“No.” John said, “Absolutely not.  You aren’t going anywhere; we’re going to get you out of this jacket.  It’s going to be fine.”

She shook her head, “There’s no way.” she said softly.  When John started to speak she gently interrupted him, “John, I designed this vest.  I know there is no way out.”  She looked down at the floor, obviously struggling with her emotions.  “I haven’t always done the right thing, I spent years doing to opposite of the right thing, in fact.” she said with a self depreciating laugh.  “But you reminded me what it is to be good, to do the right thing.”  She looked at Sherlock, “to make the ultimate sacrifice for the people you love.”

“Mary, stop this.” John pleaded, “Stop.”

She smiled at John, “I love you, John Watson.  With my whole heart and soul I love you and I adore the beautiful daughter that we created.”  She choked on a sob, “Promise me.  Promise that you will tell her about me; promise you’ll only tell her the good things.  Tell her I died to save you.”

“Mary.” John gasped clutching her hands through the bars.  “Please, let us help.” he looked back pleadingly at Sherlock the look on his face completely shattered the heart that people couldn’t quite believe Sherlock had.  “Please.  Sherlock.” he beseeched, saying his name as though it were a prayer; an unshakable belief in a higher power.

Sherlock came over to the bars to inspect the semtex despite the futility; Mary was right and they both knew it, even if John refused to admit it.

“John.”  Mary said, drawing his attention back to her once more.  “One more thing.”

“Anything.” John promised.

“Forgive me.” she said softly.  “I know I told you not to look at the files on the memory stick and I love you for not reading them, but I know if you had you would have hated me for some of the things I did and whether you know what those things are or not, I need you to forgive me before I die.”

“Of course.” he said, taking her face in his hands so he could look in her eyes, “Mary, I love you, of course I forgive you.”

“Good.” she said.  She kissed him softly, then moved to Sherlock.  Sherlock reached through the bars to grasp her hands.  “Careful,” she said with a chuckle.  “I’ve got delicate bones and you’re squeezing my hands awfully tightly.”

“Mary.” Sherlock rasped and then paused.  What else could he say?  He was momentarily distracted by John rattling their cell door and cursing; clearly still searching for a way out.

“At a loss for words?  My goodness, this is a day for the history books.” she said with a smile before turning serious and lowering her voice so only Sherlock could hear her.  “You take care of him, do you understand me?  And Evelyn.  I’m trusting you with both of them, you are the only one I could ever trust with this.”  She lowered her voice even further, “The only one I know who loves him at least as much as I do.”  She raised up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “You should tell him this time.”

“Tell him what?” Sherlock asked equally softly even though they both knew what she was talking about.

She shook her head, “Tell him.  And promise me you’ll look after them.”

“I promised I would look after all three of you.” Sherlock said, and to his horror he felt tears welling up in his eyes.  “And just look where that has gotten us.  I’m so sorry.”

“I got myself into this mess and even if he doesn’t know it, you and I both do.” she said in a hushed voice.  “Just don’t let them suffer for my mistakes.  Promise you’ll take care of them.”

“You have my word; I will protect them with every breath in my lungs and with every beat of my heart.”

“Of course you will.” she patted his cheek.  “Thank you.”  

“Right.” She squared her shoulders, much in the same way John did when he was preparing to face something difficult for him.  “Now, once I get out of here, I’ll be locking the door behind me again just in case you manage to get out of this cell.  I know how clever one of you is and how pig-headed the other is.  I’m afraid this bomb might still affect the basement but it’s the only chance we’ve got.”

“Mary!” John shouted, the panic finally reaching his voice.  “Please.   _Please_. Don’t do this.”

“I love you.” she said as she slipped out the door.  They heard the lock click back in place before John started yelling and thrashing at the bars.  It was as though he were trying to break them by sheer force, slamming into them over and over again.

“John!” Sherlock tried to pull him away from the bars and John swung a fist at him, connecting solidly with his jaw.  “Stop this.” Sherlock said, spitting out blood and pulling him away from the bars once more.

“No!  She is my wife and I won’t stop fighting for her even if you can’t see the use.  It’s _sentiment_ I realize, so it’s hardly something you can understand.” John snarled at him.  

Sherlock felt himself recoil at the words internally, his brain whispering _if you only knew._  Instead he said, “I’m not asking you to give up.  We just need to get out of our manacles before we can even think about getting out of this cell.”

Seeming to see the logic in what Sherlock said, John paused his assault on the bars to inspect the chains securing them to the wall.“How did Mary get out of hers?” he asked frantically.  

Sherlock looked around and scowled, “I don’t know.”  Then he saw it, in the corner furthest away from them he could see the glint of a hair pin.  “She picked it with that pin.”

“Too far.” John mumbled.  “Tell me you have something, Sherlock.”  

Sherlock looked around desperately, but there was nothing to use and the men who had thrown them in here had stolen his coat and anything that might have been remotely useful.  He spun around pacing frantically trying to get his mind which was still running slower than usual to just _think_.  If only they had a phone and could call for help, it might not be too late.  He shoved aside the sentiment that was rising up to choke him, the sense of responsibility for what was bound to break John’s heart.  Again.  It was cloying and hard to shake and he couldn’t get the picture of Mary’s tear stained, determined face from his mind.

John who clearly had begun to lose his patience with Sherlock’s thinking began simply yanking at the heavy chain that connected them to the wall; he put all of his weight into pulling against it.  “Wait!”  John said with a gasp.  “I’ve got it.”

“What?” Sherlock asked looking at him.

“I just need to dislocate my thumb!” he took a deep breath, “We had a POW we’d captured in Afghanistan almost get away just by dislocating his thumb.”  John sounded almost gleeful, certainly manic.

But it could work, Sherlock realized.  Without further ado, Sherlock clamped his teeth together, twisted his thumb hard and pulled.  With a gasp he felt the bone move and quickly pulled his hand through the cuff, John did the same with ease.

“Right.”  John said, “How do we get out of this fucking cell.”

Sherlock took in their prison, there was no way to get out of the bars the way John had been trying to.  “Perhaps if we try lifting the door we’ll be able to jimmy the bolt get and get the door off its hinges.”  He didn’t know what else they could do, he didn’t have anything else to use.

The door was old and rusted and as Sherlock and John fought to get the door off it’s hinges they could both feel the precious time slipping away.  Just as John had gotten the door to move half a centimeter higher they heard and felt the explosion rock the basement.

“No.” John said in horror.  “No!  Mary!” he started screaming.  “Mary!”

Sherlock sunk to the floor and put his head in his hands it was too late.  He had been too late and now it was over.  His last thought before he passed out once more was that John would surely hate him after this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I have absolutely no credible medical knowledge whatsoever, anything to do with injuries, medicine, or medical procedures was found on google.

_ John _

 

His mind was numb; he couldn’t think, he couldn’t process what was happening to him, to them.  Mary was gone, she was just gone.  His mind flashed back to the last time he had lost someone he loved and in spite of the fact that it had been years ago now, in spite of the fact that Sherlock was now alive and well he lost himself in the grief of Sherlock’s death.  No, no, it wasn’t Sherlock he reassured himself; it was Mary.  Somehow this thought calmed him down, but he refused to let himself contemplate why.  He was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to reassure himself that Sherlock was alright, that he was alive and he was here.  

John turned to where Sherlock had been standing beside him a moment ago but he wasn’t there; he was sprawled out on the floor and it felt as if the entire world, all of the color, and the sounds, and the feelings rushed back into his body.  The numbness and the fog lifted and the world was sharp and bright and back in focus.

“Sherlock?” he called, he could hear the panic in his voice as he rolled Sherlock onto his back and felt for his pulse.  He couldn’t find one and bent his ear over Sherlock’s mouth to feel for breath and there was none.  “No.” he said.  “I’m not losing you again.”  He started CPR and rescue breathing; he fell into the rhythm putting everything he had into saving his best friend’s life.

John didn’t know how long he continued the compressions: counting to 30, breathing into Sherlock twice, checking for a pulse. His arms were aching and the muscles in his back burned but all he knew was he couldn’t stop; he couldn’t let anything happen to Sherlock.  He vaguely heard voices shouting for him and for Sherlock.  “Down here!” he called, his voice ragged.

“John?!  Sherlock?!”  Lestrade burst through the cell door,  "Are you both alright?"

John could hear the saw buzzing behind them cutting open the cell door. "I am but Sherlock's got no pulse and he stopped breathing."

"Damn it." Lestrade cursed. "Get this fucking cell open.  Now." He barked at the men trying to cut through the metal. "How long's he been under?"

"Don't know." John replied pushing air into Sherlock's lungs once more. "Since right after the explosion."

"Bloody hell. I've got paramedics here they'll be in soon. Where's Mary?  Do I need to send men after her or is she home?"

"Dead." John replied tersely, feeling oddly devoid of emotions. It had to be the shock, his brain reassured him. 

"What?" Lestrade asked blankly. 

"Can we not have this conversation now?"

Finally he heard the bars give way and people started pouring into the cell. One paramedic started to pull John away from the CPR and John snapped, "Don't fucking touch me. I'm a doctor; get the defibrillator ready and we'll shock him." He'd slipped easily in Captain Watson, realizing belatedly that in spite of the unfortunate incidences,  he was truly in his element. John tore open Sherlock's shirt and took the pads from the paramedic to attach to Sherlock's chest, before attaching the sensors.  “Clear.”  John held his breath as he waited for Sherlock’s heart to start beating again; he reached over and felt for a pulse on Sherlock’s neck.  “Come on.” he growled low under his breath.

“Anything?” Lestrade asked.  

John ignored him and began chest compressions again; he did another two sets and said “Clear.” once more, ignoring the men standing around them uselessly.  He pushed the button on the defibrillator and waited again as the machine sent another electronic pulse through Sherlock’s body.   _ Please God, let him live.  _ John’s heart had never prayed something as fervently as he did for this.  God must have heard him again because Sherlock’s entire body shuddered and he gave a huge gasp.   _ Thank you. _ was all John could think.

“Still unconscious.” John said as he reached down to feel for a pulse.  “Pulse is thready but it’s there.  Let’s get out of here, do you have a gurney?”

The men standing around sprung into action, seemingly glad to finally be able to be of use; they got Sherlock onto a board and John followed never more than a foot from Sherlock.  The paramedics loaded Sherlock into the back of the ambulance and John followed without waiting to be invited in.  “Sir, are you family?” one of the men asked.

Before John could answer and snap the man’s head off, Lestrade said “He’s fine.”  John nodded at him in thanks.  “I’ll meet you there, yeah?” he said before closing the doors on the ambulance.

From there it was a blur of motion as the paramedics started taking Sherlock’s vitals and putting an IV and an oxygen mask in place.  One of the men started asking questions and John forced his mind to focus so he could answer them.  “How long was he unconscious?”

“I’m not sure.” John said.  “We were trying to get out of that bloody cell when the explosion happened and the next thing I knew he was laying on the floor not breathing and he had no pulse.”  John couldn’t bring himself to say what he knew was true, Sherlock had died.  Again.  He reached over and clasped Sherlock’s wrist in his hand feeling his pulse thrum reassuringly under his fingers.

The paramedics exchanged surprised glances, “Did he regain consciousness at all between the explosion and our arrival?”

“No.”

“Do you know what brought this on?”

John sighed.  “We were ambushed and knocked out.  Possibly drugged, I’ve no way to know for sure; he has a gash on the back of his head but other than that I’m not really sure.  We didn’t have time to do a proper examination once we woke up.”

“Dr. Watson, we should really look you over, too.”

“I’m fine.” he said waving a hand away.

The paramedics exchanged glances once more but left him alone for which he was grateful.  They arrived at the A&E shortly and John realized they must have been moved from the factory once they’d been knocked out; there hadn’t been anything near their initial location.  

When he climbed out after the paramedics he saw Mycroft standing by the entrance, his face ashen.  Sherlock was wheeled in and doctors took over from the paramedics garnering all the information they could.  John began to follow once more when they started pulling Sherlock through the doors into the operating theatre but a doctor stopped him.  “I’m sorry, sir but I can’t allow you through these doors.  A doctor will be out to update you as soon as we have any information.”

“The hell you can’t.” John said.  “I am a bloody doctor.  He’s my friend.  I can help, I’m the one who kept him alive in the field.”

The doctor gave him a tightlipped smile, “We’re aware of that, sir.  You did an admiral job but please, let us do ours now.”

John felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Mycroft standing behind him.  “Come, Dr. Watson.” he turned to the doctor, “Please send someone to give Dr. Watson a quick check over while Sherlock is in surgery.”

Indignantly John brushed Mycroft’s hand off his shoulder and said, “I don’t need to be bloody well checked over, Mycroft.” he spat Mycroft’s name with as much venom as he could muster.

“Yes you do.  It wouldn’t do for Sherlock to wake up only to find you had expired trying to save his life when he was in the hands of some of London’s finest and most capable physicians already.  There’s no reason you can’t be checked over while he’s in surgery.” Mycroft lowered his voice and said, with the closest thing to real emotion John had ever seen, “Please.  He would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.  I promise if anyone comes to inform me of anything I will let you know immediately.”  

John nodded once; he didn’t like the idea but he knew Mycroft was right.  There was no point in fighting it.  He followed a doctor to a small screened off area and had a comprehensive check up.  He only had a few bumps and bruises, nothing serious.  They took some of his blood to be sent off to toxicology to see if they had been poisoned while unconscious.  

Lestrade popped his head around the curtain as John was standing up to leave again, “Here, mate.” he said, handing John a bag.  “I brought you some clean clothes; I’m going to need to take the ones you’re wearing as evidence.”  He cleared his throat, “And I checked in on Evelyn,” he started softly.  “She’s fine.  I took her to Molly, I know she’s looked after her overnight before; I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous.”

John shook his head, “That’s perfect.  Thank you, Greg.” he said sincerely, giving the other man a pat on the arm.

“Don’t mention it.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, “Listen, John, I’m going to need your statement.  I know the timing is shite, but this whole thing is a bloody disaster and we’ve no idea what happened.”

John swallowed down the lump in his throat, “I get it.  Let me just change and I’ll be right out.”

“Thanks.” Greg said, looking relieved.

A few minutes later John sat down with Greg in the waiting area and Anthea or whatever her name actually was brought him a cup of tea.  Mycroft strolled over to them as well, “Would you mind terribly if I listened to the interview as well, Detective Inspector?” 

Both John and Lestrade knew his asking was only a formality, Mycroft easily could and would get whatever information he wanted, regardless.  The questioning seemed to take an age, but John was grateful because it meant there was less time for him to worry over Sherlock as they still hadn’t had anyone come out to update them.  He walked them through the whole thing, or at least as much as he could.  Explaining how Sherlock had tracked Moriarty to the warehouse, they’d left Evelyn with Mrs. Hudson and the three of them went there.  Once they got inside, it was clear it had been a trap and they’d been ambushed, knocked out and moved to a second location.  He dispassionately explained waking up to find Mary in Semtex, her plan to leave and blow up Moriarty, and their attempt at escape.

John shrugged at the two of them, “That’s all I know really.” he shook his head.  “I’m probably the worst one of the three of us to ask; probably know the least.  But Sherlock’s in surgery and Mary’s...” he trailed off and swallowed again.  “Well, Mary’s dead.”  He watched Mycroft and Lestrade exchange looks, Mycroft shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Greg looked over at John, “I’m so sorry for your loss, mate.”

John nodded at a complete loss for what to say.  He wondered where the grief was.  Of course he felt sad, his daughter was going to grow up without her mother and he’d loved Mary in spite of the lies.  He’d meant it when he said her past didn’t matter and that he wanted to continue to be married to her, he’d forgiven her.  But he’d lost someone important to him before and this loss felt nothing like that one.  This was nothing like the black pit he’d been sucked into when Sherlock had died.  This was nothing like the darkness that surrounded everything he did and everything he was.  There was no regret, no ache that consumed his entire being.  He didn’t want to die like he had then.  Maybe it would come, he reasoned.  He was in shock, probably, and he was too worried about Sherlock to grieve properly at the moment.

John didn’t know how much time passed as he sat in silence with Lestrade and Mycroft before the Doctor came out.  “Sherlock Holmes’ family?” she said.  Immediately John stood up and moved toward her, Mycroft followed John.

“Yes.” John said quickly, “How is he?”

“I’m sorry, sir, who are you?” she asked and even though John knew hospitals couldn’t give out information to anyone he could hardly contain himself from snapping the woman’s head off.

Mycroft spoke quickly, “I’m his brother, Mycroft Holmes.  Anything you say to me can be said to Dr. Watson.  Additionally, Dr. Watson, I believe, is whom Sherlock has listed as Health Care Proxy and will be responsible for any medical decisions forthwith.”

John looked at Mycroft in complete shock but Mycroft didn’t seem to notice and once the doctor started to speak John turned his attention to her.  “Good.  I’m glad that’s sorted then.  Sherlock is doing well.  Far better than we’d expected when we’d heard about his condition.  Frankly, I’m surprised he’s alive; people rarely come back after half an hour of CPR.  There was a little bit of swelling in his brain, which we think is what caused him to lose consciousness in the first place and essentially die.  He also has a couple of broken ribs but that is fairly common for people who have CPR performed on them.  Everything else is just surface issues; bruises, cuts, and things of that nature.  We don’t know what will happen when he wakes up or even if he’ll wake up; he’s in a coma right now and we have no means of knowing what his brain function will look like when he wakes up.  As I said, half an hour of being dead is incredibly uncommon.”

“I want to see him.” John said as soon as she’d finished speaking.

She started to protest but Mycroft interrupted her, “I’ll take care of anything you need to allow Dr. Watson to be with Sherlock whenever he chooses for as long as he chooses.”

Apparently, and entirely unsurprisingly, Mycroft held a bit of weight here because she looked a bit nervous but backed down immediately, “Alright, then.  If you’ll follow me.”

She led John and Mycroft down the hall and into a room where Sherlock was hooked up to several machines.  Mycroft hovered near the doorway, but without hesitation John pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down.  He reached over and took hold of Sherlock’s wrist feeling for a pulse in spite of the machines reading it for him.  He stared at his best friend’s face and willed him to wake up.  When he didn’t open his eyes John said softly, “It’s alright, you take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

And so he waited. 


	3. Chapter 3

_ Sherlock _

The first thing Sherlock became aware of was the low steady beeping of a heart monitor.  The second thing was that he couldn’t feel the fingers on his left hand, he attempted to wiggle his fingers only to have the intolerable feeling of pins and needles as his hand started to regain circulation.  He opened his eyes to look down at his hand to see what was trapping it only to find John asleep with his head resting on the bed near his thigh and his fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s wrist and resting on his pulse point.  Sherlock shuffled slightly, his entire body felt stiff; but moving absolutely made it feel worse.  His chest ached constantly, especially when he took any semblance of a deep breath; broken rib, then.  Idly he wondered when that had happened before the memory of the cell came back to him.  He closed his eyes to the assault of memories; Mary’s sacrifice, the pain etched in John’s face, the desperation. 

He felt John move a bit and wished he could fall back asleep, he wasn’t ready to face John yet, wasn’t ready to see the hurt and the disappointment.  “Sherlock?” John mumbled sleepily.

Sherlock opened his eyes, John’s voice was a siren’s call he could never willfully ignore.

Suddenly John was very much awake, “Can you hear me?” he asked before shouting for a nurse to come.  He looked back at Sherlock, “Thank God.” he said fervently.  “How are you feeling?”

“Been better.” Sherlock croaked.  “A bit thirsty.”

John glanced down at his IVs, “Well, that’s to be expected.  I’ll have someone fetch you some ice chips, yeah?  Anything else?”

“My chest hurts.” Sherlock added.  “I don’t remember feeling this much pain when we were in the cell.” Sherlock looked down, suddenly unable to face John after his failure to save Mary.  “John, I’m...” he started to apologize but a nurse burst into the room, interrupting him.

“What is it?” she asked looking at John, seemingly ignoring Sherlock completely in favor of looking at the machines he was hooked up to.  Sherlock snorted, people could be so utterly incompetent at times.

John responded before Sherlock could, and much more kindly than Sherlock was inclined to, “He’s awake.”

“Well, bless my soul!  I’ll nip out and fetch Dr. Wells, shall I?” she said, giving Sherlock a quick smile.

“Bring some ice chips back, too if you wouldn’t mind.” John called after her.  He turned back to look at Sherlock with a huge grin.  “You gave me a right scare, you tosser.” he chuckled a bit.

Sherlock tried to force a small smile but sensed it came out more as a grimace.

“Are you alright?” John asked suddenly looking concerned once more.  “How’s your pain level?  How’s your head feeling?”

“Manageable.” Sherlock said, “My head feels a bit foggy but no more than usual upon waking.  How long have I been unconscious?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Sherlock said blankly.

“You were in a coma.” John said rubbing the back of his neck.

Before Sherlock could respond a doctor came in, “Ah, Mr. Holmes, so glad to see you back in the land of the living.  My name is Dr. Wells, I’ve been the primary Physician on your case since your arrival.  It was a bit touch and go for a while but we should have expected nothing less from you.” she said with a smile and offered Sherlock her hand to shake.  “Alright, so let’s talk a bit about your injuries.  When you came in to the hospital you’d been dead for approximately half an hour before the ambulance got to you with a defibrillator and restarted your heart.  Fortunately for you Dr. Watson is the singular most stubborn man I’ve ever met; he performed CPR until the paramedics arrived which is without a doubt the sole reason you are still alive.  That’s most likely the cause of the broken ribs I'm sure you are feeling; although the two weeks in the coma has been an excellent way for your body to heal so they probably hurt less than they would have otherwise.  You came in with a pretty serious concussion; we’ve run routine tests for the past two weeks but now that you are conscious we will run a series of more comprehensive exams to determine if there was any lasting damage from either the concussion or from the time you spent dead.”  

Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock saw John’s jaw clench and his mouth form a thin line; he was probably thinking of his wife who was now dead because of Sherlock's inability to keep them safe.  He wasn’t sure how John could even stand the sight of him, couldn’t fathom why John had worked so hard to keep him alive after his complete failure, or why he’d been here when Sherlock had woken up.  One thing was certain, John Watson was still the best man he’d ever known.  

Dr. Wells was still talking, so Sherlock refocused on that as best he could, “There were also traces of suxamethonium chloride in your system; we think that may have been a contributing factor in your conditions.  Suxamethonium chloride is...”

Sherlock interrupted her with a wave of his hand, “a medication most commonly used as a muscle relaxant or to achieve short term paralysis; I’m aware.  The dose was most likely miscalculated when injected into my system causing me to overdose.”

John was grinning next to him, “That sounds just like the Sherlock we all know and love.”

Sherlock’s heart clenched painfully, but he gave John a quick grin none the less. 

John sat in the corner and waited patiently while Dr. Wells did a preliminary physical examination telling Sherlock that his reactions appeared normal and very promising.  She informed him that they would get further scans and testing scheduled; as long as everything checked out he could go home as early as this afternoon providing he had someone to stay with him.  Dr. Wells said the last bit with a quick glance a John who simply nodded his consent.  “Right, then.  I’ll be back in a tick, just need to get everything scheduled.”

Once she left the room John moved his chair back over and sat down next to Sherlock’s bed.  “Really, John, I couldn’t possibly ask you to come and stay with me.” Sherlock said as he winced and shifted in the hospital bed once more.  John stood without prompting and helped to shuffle Sherlock’s pillows about to allow him to sit up more comfortably.  “Perhaps I should just ask to stay at the hospital a few more days.”  Although he was loath to stay in this wretched place a moment longer he couldn’t bear the thought of John doing anything else for him out of a sense of obligation; especially after Sherlock had failed him so spectacularly.

“What are you on about?” John asked.  “You hate hospitals; you’d rather die...” he paused, obviously Sherlock thought, he was struggling with the concept of death in light of what had happened to Mary.  “Well,” he said clearing his throat once more, “I know how much you hate being in hospitals.  I’ll just stay at Baker Street for a few weeks while you’re on the mend.”

Sherlock shook his head, “What about Evelyn?” he asked.  “Surely you don’t need two helpless humans to take care of.” It occurred to him that he hadn’t even thought about John’s child since he’d woken up, maybe he did have brain damage after all. “Oh.” he gasped.  “Where is she?  Is Evelyn alright?” he felt panic rising in his throat like bile.  What if someone had taken her while he’d been in a coma?  He’d left John and Evelyn open to every enemy threat imaginable.  What if Moriarty hadn’t been killed in the explosion?  What if he had and his minions had come after her?

“Sherlock.” John said softly but firmly, “Calm down.  Deep breaths for me.” It was only as he said this that Sherlock realized he was hyperventilating; how utterly tedious.  “That’s it.” John said soothingly rubbing a hand up and down Sherlock’s spine and helping him lean forward a bit.  Breathing with broken ribs really was terrible and made slowing down his breathing even more of a challenge.  “Nice and slow; on each breath in count one and out count two.  Evelyn’s fine; Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson have been helping out for the past two weeks.  Everything is okay.”

Once Sherlock’s breathing returned to normal he let his body fall back against his pillows with a wince and said, “Right.  Well, I couldn’t possibly take you from your daughter.  I couldn’t ask you to do this for me, John.”

“You don’t have to ask, you berk.” John said and Sherlock thought he heard a warm note of affection in his voice.  Sherlock couldn’t stand it.  It tore apart his insides, it hurt more than a broken rib ever could.  How could John feel anything resembling affection for him after what he had done, or rather what he’d failed to do?

Sherlock knew what he had to do.  Mary had made him promise to protect John and Evelyn; right now that meant getting them as far away from him as he could.  Feelings be damned, he didn’t have time for them.  Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Sherlock said, “I think you misunderstand me, John. I don’t want you to help me, I don’t want you at Baker Street.”

“What?” John said, sounding completely befuddled.

Sherlock shoved his emotions down and felt his face fall into the impenetrable mask that he had once worn with such ease before John Watson had limped into his life.  He looked at John and said, “You heard me.  I do not require your assistance.”

John clenched and unclenched his fists and the smile that happened every time John became dangerous appeared on his lips.  It was in moments like this that Sherlock could plainly see all that John had been capable of as a Captain in her Majesty’s service.  He was normally so unassuming with his warm, kind eyes and bulky sweaters; always a paradox, his John.  “Like hell you don’t.  Tell me what this is about, or so help me Sherlock.”

“You’ll what, John?” Sherlock sneered.  “Incapacitate me further?  I invite you to try.  Go home, John.”

Without a word John pivoted on his heel, snatched up his jacket and stormed from the room.  Hurt and anger projected from every fiber of his being and Sherlock physically ached to see it there, to know he’d caused it.  It was for the best, Sherlock knew.  He had to protect John, he had to.  There was no point in his existence if John weren’t there, too.  It sounded ridiculous, melodramatic, and like a lovesick adolescent even in his own mind but the thought consumed him. 

“John?” he heard a voice outside the door as John barrelled through it.

Sherlock looked up to see Lestrade and John passing in the hallway.  “Where’s my daughter?” John snapped.

Lestrade was clearly startled, “What’s wrong?  Is Sherlock okay?”

“Yep.  His usual prick self.”

“He’s awake?” Lestrade asked.

“Greg.” John snapped again.  “Where is my child?”

“She’s with Mrs. Hudson.  She was going to bring her by in a couple of hours to visit you and Sherlock.” he started to say but John was already walking away.

Sherlock let his head fall back against the pillows as Lestrade came in the room.

“I’m not sure whether I should hug you and welcome you back from the dead again or scold you.” Lestrade said casually as he came to sit in the chair John had recently vacated.  Sherlock gritted his teeth but said nothing.  Out of his peripherals he saw Lestrade lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees.  “I’ve known you a long time, Sherlock.” he said, his voice unbearably soft and Sherlock felt tears prickling the back of his eyes as his chest constricted painfully and his throat started to burn.  It was hateful.  He despised emotions.  Lestrade continued, either oblivious to his emotional discomfort or completely ignoring it.  “A long time.  Probably longer than most people.  I don’t always understand you.  Hell,” he said with a chuckle, “I rarely understand you.  You are the most brilliant man I’ve ever met and for a long time I thought you had no conscience.  I thought you had no means of empathizing with people, that you really were a sociopath like you told everyone.

“But then there was a day that I will always remember, a day when I knew that you would be a good man and not just a great one.  That was the day you towed John Watson with you to a crime scene, offering me no explanation whatsoever about his presence just saying he was with you.  When I watched you work together that day and I realized you saw him, really saw him in the way that only you seem to be able to do, that you wanted to help him.  I’ve watched the two of you together for years, bickering and fighting sure but  _ always _ bringing out the best in one another.  Always having one another’s backs from that very first day no matter what it took.  

“After twenty four hours John shot a man for you.” At that Sherlock looked sharply at Lestrade who chuckled softly, “Of course I figured out it was him, you numpty.  You practically told me that night before you’d even realized it yourself, I think.  Anyway, I watched John Watson cancel date after date to help you, I watched him end one relationship after another because you were too important to him for anything else to take priority over you.  I watched him completely tear himself to shreds when he thought you’d killed yourself; there were times when I was sure that John was going to off himself in the two years you were gone.  Then I watched him give you CPR for thirty minutes after you’d died,  _ literally  _ died, even though he’s a doctor and he knows the odds of someone living, let alone waking up with any brain function after going that long without a heartbeat are virtually non-existent.  And I have come here every day for the past 2 weeks and seen John sitting here in this bloody chair waiting for you to wake up.  He hasn’t even gone home to shower, he’s done it in the bloody bathroom attached to your room; it’s a damned good thing your brother is the bloody British government or I’m sure John would have been arrested before he left your side.”

“Lestrade.” Sherlock rasped out, valiantly fighting his tears and doing fairly well, if he did say so himself, “I’m well aware of the many virtues of John Watson.”

“I’m not done.” Lestrade said.  “The Lord knows I listen to you natter on enough, it’s your turn and you have nowhere to go so shut it and listen.  More than I am amazed that you have found someone who will love you so unconditionally, I am amazed by what I have seen you do for John Watson.  First, I watched you slow yourself down for his sake, which seemed nothing short of miraculous.  I’ve watched you sit down for meals during a case because John was hungry and you worried about his depression.  I know that the first time you faced off with Moriarty you were prepared to let yourself die with John because you couldn’t save both of you.  I saw you literally jump off a building to fake your own death so you could dismantle an entire web of criminals by yourself to keep John Watson safe.  You murdered a man to protect John and his family, to protect a woman who had shot you in the chest, even though you knew to do so was to sentence yourself to death.  But more than any of these things, I watched you stand up at John’s wedding and give the best damned speech I have ever heard at a wedding, well at least up until the end when you were trying to solve a murder.  You gave that speech even though anyone who knows you knew that it was tearing your heart out to do it; giving up John Watson was the most selfless thing you’ve ever done.  Everything big, everything important you have done since John walked into your life has been out of love for him.

“With all of that being said, I’m going to need you to explain to me what the hell you possibly could’ve said to John that could make him storm out of this room after being here for two weeks without reprieve waiting for you to wake up.”

Sherlock stared at Lestrade, dumbfounded and at a loss for words for a moment completely unable to process everything he’d said.  “If you applied a modicum of this sort of observation to your crime scenes you might be a passable Detective Inspector, Lestrade.” 

“Oh ta, Sherlock.  Ta very much.” he said ruefully, scrubbing his hands over his face.  “The sad thing is I’m pretty sure that’s the closest you’ve ever come to giving me a compliment.”

Sherlock shrugged, “That’s the closest you’ve ever come to deserving one.”

“Stop evading the question.” Lestrade said, clearly a skill learned for being a parent; whether that meant of his children at home or the detectives who worked under him who behaved like children, Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure.  “What did you just say to John?”

Sherlock twisted his fingers together in his lap and stared at them, “I told him I didn’t need him.” he mumbled softly.

“Sorry.  You’re going to have to repeat yourself because I can’t imagine you said what it sounded like you just said.”

Sherlock sighed and chastised himself for twisting his fingers like a child in front of their headmaster after blowing up a chemistry lab.  “I told him I didn’t need him.”

“Why?” Lestrade said, frustration dripping from his voice.

“You’re the Detective Inspector, you tell me.” Sherlock snapped.  He wouldn’t say it out loud, he couldn’t bring himself to say that John Watson was better off without him.

“Why do you have to be so bloody difficult?” Lestrade asked, it was a rhetorical question that Sherlock felt no need to answer.  “Well, if you’re going to be an emotionally stunted five year old about this, I’m going to have to say based on the evidence I’ve just presented that you are worried about his safety.  You blame yourself for Mary’s death, she probably made you promise to protect them or some shite like that and you think the best way to do that is to separate yourself from John and Evelyn.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Lestrade, “I think you missed your calling, you should have been a psychiatrist.  Or a priest.”

“Nah,” Lestrade said, “The only thing that I can make sense of with people’s issues are when they’re in love.  And I like sex way too much to be a priest.” he said with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “You aren’t wrong.” he said.

“About the sex?” Lestrade said with a laugh, “I’m aware.”

“No.  Uggh.  There are some things I really don’t need to think about, Lestrade, and your sex life is one of them.  I meant about John.”

“Of course I’m not.” Lestrade said cheekily.  “But sending him away is not protecting him.  Or Evelyn.  John goes crazy when he’s not with you and you get mopey when you’re not with him.  As I recall, after John got married you went and did a ridiculous amount of drugs and John stormed into a drug den and broke a man’s wrist.”

Sherlock huffed, “How many times do I have to tell you people?  It was  _ for a case. _ ”

“Few more, I’m afraid.  That point notwithstanding, don’t you think you can keep John safer if he’s with you than you can if he lives 20 minutes away.  It’s not like you’re protecting him, everyone knows he’s your pressure point anyway; it’ll just make it harder to get to him when something does happen.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it again.  Lestrade was right, he was loath to admit it but it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.  “I think...” Sherlock swallowed, “I think you may be right.” Sherlock mumbled.

Lestrade grinned, “I’m marking this day on a calendar,” he crowed triumphantly.  “I’m going to celebrate it every year with something nice; I don’t know what yet, but it will be fantastic.  What’s the date today?”

“You’re asking the man who just came out of a coma what today’s date is.” Sherlock said raising an eyebrow at him.

Lestrade chuckled, looking a bit sheepish, “Got a bit carried away, there.”  He pulled out his phone, “Let’s see here, looks like August 16th.”

Dr. Wells came in a moment later and immediately asked, “Where’s Dr. Watson?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but Lestrade gave a smile and said, “He’ll be back.”  He stood up and started to stroll out the door, whistling tunelessly on his way.

“Greg!” Sherlock called, Lestrade turned around looking a bit shocked at hearing his name pass Sherlock’s lips.  “Thank you.” Sherlock said softly but sincerely.

Lestrade grinned and said, “What did I tell you?  Great day August 16th.”  With a salute in Sherlock’s direction he headed from the room leaving Sherlock to have his tests run and anxiously await John’s return.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_ John _

John stomped into Baker Street where his daughter was; he didn’t know what he’d expected once Sherlock had woken up but he certainly hadn’t expected this.  “Bloody obnoxious arse.”

“My heavens, John Watson, what language.” Mrs. Hudson tutted at him from her doorway.

John felt himself blush, “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Well, that’s alright dear.” she said laying a soothing hand on his cheek.  “What are you doing here?  Did you need a break from the hospital?  Terrible places, hospitals.”

“Erm no.  Sherlock woke up.”

“Oh!  Thank heavens!  Bless him, that boy will be the death of me.  How is he, dear?”

“Fine.  Just fine.  Being his usual, unbearable self.” he tried to smile at her, but knew it didn’t quite pass off as a smile from the look on her face.  “Listen, Mrs. Hudson I’m just here to pick up Evelyn.  Thank you so much for all you’ve done for the past few weeks; I know it’s been awful.”

“Not at all.  She was good as gold, she’s such a darling.” she cooed.  “She’s only just settled down for her nap.  Maybe you could use the time to get the upstairs room ready? I’m sure you’ll be moving back in to help Sherlock as he recovers.  And with Mary gone, God rest her soul, where else would you go?”

John looked at Mrs. Hudson, her face bright and hopeful, and in this moment after he had just suffered the anguish of Sherlock refusing his help he couldn’t tell her.  It would break her heart, he couldn’t be certain why but he knew telling her he wasn’t moving back in would be impossibly difficult for her to hear.  So he just nodded at her, deciding to let Sherlock be the one to break the news to her.  It would serve him right, he thought as he trudged up the stairs and into the place that still felt and smelled more like home than anywhere else he had ever lived.  Although, knowing how Mrs. Hudson doted on Sherlock, John was bound to be the one she blamed for this.  

He sat down in his old chair, which had been moved back to where it had always been after Mary had shot Sherlock.  What a bloody mess his life had become.  Strangely, John didn’t feel much but irritation at Sherlock for his typical lack of gratitude.  This was ridiculous, he thought to himself, how was he so unaffected by Mary’s death?  “Mary’s dead.” he whispered out loud, trying out the words in his mouth.  He’d struggled to say those words when Sherlock had jumped; he struggled to even think of the two words in conjunction with one another.  Thinking of Mary dead filled him with a profound sense of sadness for his daughter who would never know her mother; who wouldn’t have her mum there to help her pick out a dress for her school dances, who wouldn’t be there to teach her how to do her hair and makeup, who wouldn’t be there on her wedding day to reassure her and support her.  But it was strange, it was as though that was almost as far as it went.  He felt sad about her death but in the way he would for a friend, not the way he felt he should for a wife.   _ A wife who almost murdered your best friend.   _ His mind traitorously reminded him.   _ A wife who never even told you her real name.  A wife who wanted to escape her past so badly that she didn’t care who she hurt in the process; who was willing to kill someone you love to keep her secrets from you. _  He sat forward and rubbed his eyes with his hands, he was so tired and his brain wouldn’t stop this circular thinking; accusing Mary for her faults then defending her and trying to convince the other half of his mind that he’d forgiven her for her betrayal.  Truth be told his brain hadn’t stopped having this argument since he’d found out about Mary.  He couldn’t count the number of nights he’d laid in bed beside her replaying the same argument over and over.  “This is intolerable.” he muttered to himself.  “No wonder Harry drinks.”  He winced, that was not a particularly healthy thought to be having at the moment.

Just as he’d decided to get up and take a shower and a nap before sorting the rest of this, he heard the downstairs door bang open and Lestrade shout out “John!”

John groaned and Mrs. Hudson popped her head out to scold him, “For goodness sake, Gregory!  The baby just fell asleep.  Lower your voice.”

“Sorry Mrs. H.”  John could see the sheepish look on Greg’s face as he ducked his head in apology in his mind’s eye and couldn’t help the grin that popped into place.

“He’s upstairs getting ready for Sherlock’s arrival.”

“Perfect.”  In a moment he was upstairs and through the door, grinning broadly at John as though he’d just won the bloody lottery.

“I’m not, you know.” he said softly to be sure Mrs. Hudson couldn’t overhear him.  “Sherlock was quite specific about not wanting me here.  Something to do with Evelyn.  Probably doesn’t want a baby disrupting his mad experiments and putting him off his precious thinking.  He does so hate to have the attention drawn anywhere but at himself.”

“That bad huh?” Lestrade asked sympathetically.

John shrugged, trying to play it off, “I don’t know what I was expecting.  Maybe just a ‘thank you.’  Maybe a ‘Hey, mate.  Sorry your wife died.’  I forgot who we’re talking about here.”  

John sighed, then looked up at Greg, “Sorry, listen to me prattling on like a old woman.  What can I do for you, Greg?  Can I get you a cuppa?  I could use a spot of tea myself, come to think of it.” John said walking toward the kitchen.

“Tea might be nice.” Greg replied easily and John was reminded how much he liked Greg.  How calm he could be, how good he was at understanding the shite one went through for Sherlock’s sake.

“So how was he when you left?” John asked in spite of himself as he flipped the kettle on and pulled down the tea and a couple of mugs.  

Greg grinned ruefully at him, “Still a right pain in the arse like he usually is.  But I actually got him to tell me I was right and say thank you.  I told him I’m marking this day down on the calendar and doing something special every year in honor of it; and I think I just might.”

“That’s a fair bit better than I could manage.  All I got was a ‘Your services are no longer required, please see yourself out.’” John said.

“He didn’t say that.” Lestrade said aghast.

“Well not exactly, but that was the general idea.” John said, trying to sound casual but missing by a mile.  “So, what were you right about then?” John asked as  set a cup of tea in front of Lestrade.

“That he needs you.”

John opened the fridge only to be met with a god-awful stench of whatever had been decaying in Sherlock’s fridge for at least the past two weeks.  “Buggering fuck.” John shouted, slamming the door closed on the fridge and then kicking it twice for good measure.  “Can’t a bloke just have a cup of tea without it being ruined.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Lestrade standing next to him, “Listen, mate.  Why don’t you go have a shower; I’ll get... whatever that is cleaned out of the fridge, we’ll borrow some milk from Mrs. Hudson and get Sherlock’s room in order.  Come to think of it we probably ought to get yours set up, too.  But after everything’s ready we’ll go and pick up Sherlock and bring him home.  You can actually sleep in a bed tonight, I’m sure that will feel like heaven, yeah?”

John shook his head, “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?  He doesn’t want me here.  He doesn’t want my help.”

“Didn’t you hear what I was right about?”

John thought back, he hadn’t heard because he’d been too distracted by whatever Sherlock had left rotting in their fridge.  He shook his head.

Lestrade grinned, “He told me I was right about him needing you.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Sherlock_

Sherlock shifted impatiently as he waited for John to return to the hospital; John was right he thought irritably he really did hate hospitals.  They were uncomfortable and everything was too clean, too organized yet so very ineffective in so many instances.  He shuffled higher on the bed and tapped his fingers on the railings that might as well have been prison bars.  How had he thought he’d be able to stay here until the doctor cleared him to go home unaccompanied?   _You’ve done more difficult things than this for John Watson._ his brain reminded him unhelpfully.  

His thoughts were interrupted by the click of expensive shoes walking down the hall and the telltale swish of an umbrella sliding against expensive trousers.  Sherlock let his head fall back against the pillows and groaned.  “Go away, Mycroft.”

“Really, brother mine?  Is that any way to greet me after not having seen me for weeks?  I’ve been quite worried for you.”

Sherlock snorted, “I’ve no doubt.  Why are you here, Mycroft?”  Sherlock looked up at him in time to see a small flash of hurt cross his features before they smoothed once more into the impersonal gaze Mycroft viewed the world with.  Sherlock felt a flash of guilt, but pushed it away; they weren’t children anymore and displaying emotions to one another was against the rules Mycroft had set for them years ago, vulnerability was unbefitting for a man of Mycroft’s stature or for people capable of higher thought like the two of them.

“Where’s the good Doctor?  He hasn’t left your side for a moment, I’ve been informed.”  Sherlock refused to dignify his question with a response but as he had for years Mycroft read him far more capably than Sherlock cared for.  “You’ve pushed him away.  How predictable, how _dull._ ”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Mycroft.” Sherlock sneered.

“Understand what, baby brother?”

Sherlock grit his teeth and struggled to remain composed, Mycroft was just trying to get a rise out of him and it wouldn’t work.

“Ah.  Sentiment.” Mycroft said, “Of course.  Trying to protect him, as ever.  You never seem to learn, Sherlock; it would seem that every attempt you make at protecting John Watson pushes him further into harm’s way.  He doesn’t want your _protection_.”

“Well, I don’t particularly desire what you call protection either, but here we are.”

Mycroft inspected his fingernails, “Well, there’s a difference between you and I, Sherlock.  I don’t really care what you think of me whereas you seem to care a great deal for what Doctor Watson thinks of you.  You can’t have it both ways; maybe you can’t protect him and keep him.”

“Out.” Sherlock growled.  

Mycroft picked up his coat from the back of his chair, “I’m glad you’re alright.” he said softly, with the closest thing Sherlock had seen to sentiment in a long time.  “Perhaps you should consider not only keeping Doctor Watson safe but allowing him to do the same for you.”

“That rather defies the action of protecting him, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock said attempting to add a venomous bite to his words but succeeding only in sounding small and insecure as he had when he was a child asking his big brother for help.

To his surprise, Mycroft leaned over and brushed his curls off his forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture before saying, “Perhaps.  Or maybe it’s time you found a goldfish.” Without waiting for Sherlock to reply he turned and left the room.  

Sherlock leaned back against his pillows and folded his hands under his chin, trying to drop off into his mind palace but before he could get that far he heard the familiar clearing of a throat and his eyes snapped open to find John standing in the doorway with his hands shoved into the pockets of his denims looking far younger than his years.  He’d showered and shaved and eaten one of Mrs. Hudson’s scones.  The thought of John at Baker Street made his heart clench painfully.  “He’s right you know.  Much as I hate to admit it.” John said.  “Well maybe not about having a goldfish, I can’t imagine you having a fish.” John mused and Sherlock wondered if John would have said the same if he’d known what a goldfish was to Mycroft.

He came over and sat down by Sherlock’s bed and Sherlock watched him, reading his weariness and exhaustion in the tension in his body and the lines on his forehead.  “Look, I’m not good at having emotional, heartfelt chats and you aren’t good at listening to them.” John said.  “I’m a tit.  I should’ve known why you were sending me away; let’s chalk it up to over exhaustion and call it a day, alright?  I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock nodded at him hesitantly and John grinned back.

“Right, then.  Dr. Wells said you were free to leave as soon as I’ve signed you out.  So, let’s go home, yeah?”

Sherlock felt a swell of emotions rage inside of him and batter at his defenses, fighting to get out and make themselves apparent at the thought of _home and John_.  John was the only human who’d ever had this effect on Sherlock and he equally loved and despised it; rather masochistic of him to be honest.  “Alright.” he said cautiously.

John handed Sherlock a bag of clothes and left to take care of paperwork telling Sherlock to wait on the clothes if he needed any help.  Sherlock snorted and pulled open the bag struggling a bit to pull on his pants and trousers but managing eventually.  He was buttoning his aubergine shirt, John’s favorite he knew even if John would never say so, when John returned.  “You’ve done well.” he said.

“You sound surprised.” Sherlock said raising an eyebrow in his direction.  

John blushed slightly, much to Sherlock’s amusement; for a moment it almost felt like old times like everything that had happened between them was gone.  “Well you did just wake up from a coma.  But I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock refused the wheelchair; and with minimal argument the staff let it go, with John promising to keep an arm around him the entire time.  True to his word, John walked him slowly to the set of elevators chatting about the weather and other banalities that Sherlock mostly ignored in favor of focusing on breathing and walking simultaneously.  They got outside without incident and John set him in the back seat of Lestrade’s car before getting in on the other side.  Sherlock leaned his head back against the headrest; he was surprisingly weak from his ordeal, his chest ached and he couldn’t take a deep breath.  

“Are you alright?” John asked after exchanging a quick greeting with Lestrade.

“Fine, John.”

John didn’t look like he quite believed him but left it alone.  “I’ve ordered some takeaway we can pick up on the way home.” he said as Lestrade set off.  

Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded, he felt himself drift off to the sounds of Lestrade and John talking, comparing notes on babies Sherlock noted distantly.  He was awoken by John rubbing his shoulder gently and saying “We’re here.”  He opened his eyes to be met with the welcome sight of Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson was already out the door and standing on the sidewalk waiting for him.  With a deep breath he opened the door and after a moment he was ensconced in Mrs. Hudson’s embrace; surprisingly strong for a woman her age and stature.  “Let’s get him inside.” John said softly prompting Mrs. Hudson to pull away and wipe at her eyes.  

He’d managed the stairs outside of Baker Street with minimal difficulty due to John’s assistance but the steps up to their flat looked almost insurmountable.  John was beside him in an instant, placing his hand on his lower back, “It’s alright.” he said softly.  “Greg, would you head upstairs and get some plates out for dinner and get the takeaway set out.  Mrs. Hudson, would you mind terribly waking Evelyn up, getting her into a clean nappy and bringing her upstairs?”  Sherlock loved how easily John commanded situations when he thought he needed to and both Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson hastened to comply.  “Alright?” he asked once the other two were gone.

Sherlock huffed, “This is ridiculous, I only have a few broken ribs.”

John chuckled as the two of them set off and started tackling the stairs, “The transport’s rebelling, huh?  You were also in a coma.” John needlessly reminded him.  “The doctor gave me some PT exercises that we’ll work through for at least a couple weeks.  Just let me know when you need a break and we’ll take a rest.”

They made it halfway up before Sherlock’s knees buckled; John caught him with a grunt.  “What part of ‘tell me when you need a break’ did you not understand?”

“Technically,” Sherlock said as he leaned against the railing and tried to catch his breath, “You said ‘let you know’ not ‘tell you.’  It would seem this was an entirely effective way of ‘letting you know.’”

“Prat.” John mumbled but he was smiling and Sherlock couldn’t help the quirk of his lips in return.  “I’ve missed you, you know?” John said softly.

Sherlock wasn’t sure if he meant since he’d been in a coma or something more but Sherlock nodded seriously and said, “I know.” his voice broke slightly and Sherlock looked away quickly and cleared his throat.  

“Ready to try a few more?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded and slowly but surely they made it up the stairs.  John helped Sherlock over to his chair and helped get him settled comfortably; Sherlock gave him a small smile in return.  Lestrade came out of the kitchen and said, “Well I suppose I’ll just be off, then.”

“Nonsense.” John said quickly.  “I ordered more than enough food for everyone.  It’s the least I could do for all of your help today.”

“Alright.” Lestrade said with a grin.  “Cheers, mate.”  Then looking at Sherlock he said, “Well I might as well make myself useful then and grab your food.  What’re you having?”

John waved him away, “I’ve got it.” he said without asking what Sherlock wanted.  “I ordered all your favorites.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for just a moment to try and catch his breath. How could something as simple and boring as breathing be so difficult?  John touched his shoulder a moment later and said, “Here, just eat a bit and then I’ll get you settled into your room so you can have a rest.”  He handed him a plate of beef and broccoli without the beef, pork fried rice, and sesame chicken.  The portion John handed him was significantly smaller than he would normally attempt to force Sherlock to eat.

John seemed to notice his look at the plate and gave a huff.  “You can have more if you want.  Of course you can.” he said as though this entire conversation was ridiculous, and perhaps it was Sherlock thought wryly.  “It’s just your first day eating real food after your coma and these aren’t really the easiest foods to digest but…” John paused and cleared his throat.

“But you wanted me to have something I would enjoy.” Sherlock finished for him glancing up at John, “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.  As ever John, I would be lost without my blogger.”

That caused a grin to split John’s face and a chuckle to escape his lips, “You’re welcome, you madman.”

Sherlock took his plate and began chewing his food listening idly to Lestrade talking about the latest football match when Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a “Yoo hoo!” before popping in carrying Evelyn on her hip.  The child looked about ready to burst into tears but John came over immediately and scooped her out of Mrs. Hudson’s arms.

“There’s my girl.” he said pressing a kiss to her temple.  John bounced her gently and swayed until she was calm and resting her head delicately on his shoulder.  Sherlock watched, feeling a warmth blossom through his chest that turned into a dull ache.  He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant but for some reason he didn’t ever want to stop feeling it.  Evelyn started reaching and pointing toward something, babbling away nonsensically at John.  “What is it, love?” John asked.  “What do you want?”  He humored her, of course, and began walking the direction she pointed him offering her various baubles on the way until he got to Sherlock and she reached for him.  “Ah, you want to see Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s mind whirred to a thousand places at once.  “Why would she want to see me?  Surely you’re mistaken John.”

John just grinned, “No.  She’s rather fond of you, she’s spent a fair amount of time at the hospital with me waiting for you to wake up.” he said as he took the empty plate from Sherlock’s hands and plopped Evelyn on his lap.

“She’s gotten so big.” Sherlock said in awe.  He would have to take measurements in the next few days to compare to the records he’d kept of her growth over the past 8 months.  He held her gingerly, still not as at ease with her as John.  John had insisted the first time that he had put her into Sherlock’s arms that babies weren’t as fragile as Sherlock thought they were.  He pulled her in close to him so she could lean against his chest and pressed his nose to her hair breathing in the smell of lavender baby shampoo, talcum powder, and John’s laundry detergent.  She cooed contentedly at him and pulled at his fingers.  No, Sherlock thought, all babies weren’t fragile but there was nothing so precious in all the world as the tiny human sitting on his lap; he silently vowed once more to never let anything happen to her.  

Sherlock let the conversation flow around him, mentally measuring Evelyn; weighing her, taking her height, the length of each finger and each toe.  She had two teeth starting to poke through that were clearly bothering her as she gnawed on a teething ring.  At least one more tooth would be popping through any day now, Sherlock imagined.  He wondered if her teething had been difficult thus far, the research he’d done before she was born had suggested it would be but she seemed content for the most part.

“She adores you.”

Sherlock looked up to see that at some point Mrs. Hudson had moved over to sit on the end of the couch next to him.  He cleared his throat, “I don’t know about that.”

She smiled at him, “Well I do.  We’ve gotten to spend a lot of time together, Miss Evelyn and I, but she’s never as calm as she is when she’s around you.”

“That’s what happens when you’re at the center of the storm.” John said with a grin at Sherlock.  He held out his hands to Evelyn, “What do you think, love?” he said with a smile, “Ready for bed?”  He pulled her into his arms and she immediately leaned her head into his shoulder, John was right she did look tired.  He rubbed his hand up and down her back soothingly, fetching her bottle from the kitchen before heading upstairs.  

Lestrade rubbed his hands together, “Well, I suppose I ought to be off, early start in the morning and all.”  He looked at Sherlock, “Can I stop by tomorrow afternoon to get a statement about everything that happened with Moriarty?  You sure left us a giant mess to clean up.”

“Apologies.” Sherlock murmured.  “Of course just send me a text when you’re on your way and I’ll be sure to be ready.”

“Ta.” Lestrade said.  “We got John’s statement but he said he didn’t know as much as you did, which is unsurprising really.  Glad you’re back with us.” he said with a smile.

“Good night, Lestrade.”

Lestrade kissed Mrs. Hudson on the cheek on his way out and she swatted him playfully and called him a rogue.  “Let me make you a spot of tea, dear.” she said moving toward the kitchen and turning the kettle on.

Sherlock gingerly stood up stretching his muscles a bit as he did and followed her slowly.  He leaned against the counter and asked her softly, “Mrs. Hudson, how’s John been?”

“Why worried about you, dear, of course.” she said with a shake of her head.

“No I mean...” he peeked around the doorway to be sure John wasn’t back downstairs and lowered his voice just in case, “I mean about Mary.”

“I’m not really sure, to be honest.  He hasn’t really mentioned her he’s been so concerned about you and your recovery.”

“Well, he’s a private man about his grief, I suppose.” Sherlock said.  He was a bit confused about where John stood on Mary’s death; he hadn’t said a word about her and he didn’t seem terribly upset as he went through the motions of his life, but maybe he was just putting on a brave face.

“I don’t know about that.” Mrs. Hudson replied.

“You don’t know about what?”

“When you died the first time, when you jumped, John was devastated and everyone who knew him could see it, probably people who didn’t could see it as well.  It broke his heart, he couldn’t be in the flat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, we were so worried about him but he couldn’t even talk to me.  I was angry at him, you know.  When he finally came to see me right before you came back, when he came to tell me he was getting married, I was angry at him because he hadn’t said a word to me for two years.   _Two years_ , Sherlock.  And when I told him he had said it had just been too hard.  The only way I knew he was still alive was because Gregory stopped by once or twice a month to check in on me and catch up.  He’d done the same with John, he’d dragged him to the pub or had takeaway or whatever else he could convince John to do.  But John was lost, so very lost without you.”

She paused for a moment and then continued, “Then after the explosion when you were in a coma, John called to tell me you were at the hospital.  It was the only thing he told me; he said ‘Sherlock’s been hurt, could you keep Evelyn for me?’  Gregory told me about Mary later when he came to pick Evelyn up.” Mrs. Hudson smiled softly at Sherlock, the way she did when she thought he was showing appropriate sentiment especially where John was concerned. "Don't worry, love. He doesn't blame you."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. "I never said he did."

"We'll that's what you were worried about wasn't it?"

"Is it so inconceivable that I simply could have been concerned for his wellbeing?" Sherlock asked indignantly.

Mrs. Hudson tutted and patted his cheek, "Of course you were, love." she said sincerely. "But I know you and I know how you worry about what John Watson thinks of you. I also know that you take the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. John doesn't blame you for Mary's death he's just happy to have you back." She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, "and I'm happy to have you back, too." She started toward the door saying, "Tell John goodnight for me; it's time for me to take one of my herbal soothers and settle in for the night. If you boys need anything you know where to find me."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson. And thank you." Sherlock called after her.

"You've said thank you to an awful lot of people today." John said from the stairway startling Sherlock. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine, John." Sherlock said waving him off. "I'm clearly not feeling myself. How's Evelyn? All settled in for the night?"

John nodded, "She is really the best tempered baby I've ever met. Calm and easy to please as can be."

"Well look who her parents are."

John let out a deep belly laugh, the kind that always made Sherlock feel like he could fly and forced the corners of his lips to twitch up in sympathy.  “You’re right.” he said with a twinge of good humored sarcasm.  “She’s got me; an army doctor with a temper and an addiction to danger.  Then there’s her ex CIA agent turned rogue assassin of a mother who has a lying problem and probably an unhealthy addiction to dangerous situations as well.  Genetically, I can’t see any reason for her to be calm and sweet natured.  Looking at it that way she’ll probably be a nightmare as a teenager.”  John mused.

“That may all be true.” Sherlock replied, but continued not entirely sure why he felt the need to be so sentimental this evening, “But Mary loved you and she loved Evelyn so very, very much.  And she was a genuinely sweet person if you leave out that pesky murderous streak; and even when she was killing someone she didn’t take any pleasure in it.  And you John, you are the best person I have ever known, you say you have a short fuse but look how long you’ve lived with and been friends with _me,_ how short can your fuse possibly be?”

John’s face had grown serious as he listened to Sherlock talk and Sherlock wondered for a moment if he had said too much.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought up Mary?

“I…” John started then shook his head, “Sherlock.  Thank you.” he said softly.

Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure what had touched John so but he nodded none the less.

“Right.” John said clearing his throat.  “Would you like a bath before bed?” John asked.  “I personally hate having the smell of hospitals on my skin but I know you’re pretty worn out.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, he felt like he could get into bed and sleep for days but a bath in his own house sounded better.  “Bath.” he said.

John nodded and followed Sherlock to the bathroom, turning on the tap and setting the water at a comfortable temperature.  “I’ll go get your linens changed, nothing like getting into a fresh smelling bed.”

Sherlock watched him go and quickly stripped out of his clothes and climbed into the bath, he let his head rest on the back and felt his body relax into the warm water.


	6. Chapter 6

_ John _

John closed the bathroom door and slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.  He felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and his forefinger.  Sherlock was right, he’d told John exactly what he needed to hear about Mary that put everything into perspective.  Yes, Mary had lied about who she was, about her past, even about her name but that didn’t make everything a lie.  It didn’t change the fact that she had been clever and funny, sweet and steady.  It didn’t change the fact that she was the type of person who walked past homeless people and always handed them some money and usually came back with a cup of coffee.  It didn’t change the fact that she was the type of person who would smile and chat with anyone and everyone who seemed to need it.  It didn’t change the way she’d made him laugh for the first time time in years after Sherlock jumped.  It didn’t change the fact that she’d listened to John babble on about his dead flatmate and not think him odd, that she’d gone with him to Sherlock’s grave, that once Sherlock came back she loved him, too; she’d been the one to push John into seeing Sherlock again in the first place, she’d nurtured their friendship while planning their wedding.  

She’d understood John and what John had needed from the beginning and had always been willing to give it to him.  She had loved him and he had loved her.  It had been nice, he mused, having someone as devoted to him as he was to them.  Not just in the big, grand gesture sort of ways but in the everyday, unglamorous and often underappreciated ways.  She knew just how John liked his tea and had made it for him every day always handing it to him with a smile and a kiss as she passed him in the kitchen on her way to getting into the shower.  She did all of the wash and he did the dishes; they took turns cooking and hoovering.  

Sherlock had told him after Mary had shot him that John was attracted to a certain type of person, a certain type of danger but that had been the furthest thing from his mind with Mary.  She had seemed everything that Sherlock wasn’t; calm and stable, John always knew how Mary felt about him.  She was the human equivalent of warm blankets by the fire and tea; as far from dangerous as one could be.  He hadn’t wanted the danger, he hadn’t wanted the adrenaline; he’d wanted quiet and healing.  He’d found it in Mary.  She had healed him, from the inside out; mending old wounds without him knowing until one day the thought of Sherlock hadn’t hurt him quite so badly.

She’d been a friend when he’d needed one desperately and now she was gone.  The pain was nothing like it had been when John had lost Sherlock, but suddenly he ached with the knowledge that he’d never be able to talk to her again, he’d never be able to hug her, or see her smile, or hear her laugh.  It was different with Mary because he’d told her everything from the beginning; he’d left nothing unsaid and he didn’t have any regrets.  

He stood and brushed his trousers off but couldn’t resist trudging up the stairs to look in at Evelyn sleeping peacefully in her cot.  He walked over to her and ran his fingers through her fine blonde hair, pin straight and wispy.  She looked ethereal sometimes, like a tiny angel or fairy come to life before John’s eyes.  He supposed most parents felt this sort of awe when faced with a child they had helped create but he was amazed by her.  She would be a constant reminder of the good things about Mary, the beautiful things about Mary, a piece of her he could always keep near and treasure.  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple once more and whispered, “I love you.” before picking up the monitor and leaving the room.

He went to the linen cupboard and pulled out a set of clean sheets to put on Sherlock’s bed, chuckling as he thought about how he used to tease Sherlock for the exorbitant thread count.  Mary had been the same way about her sheets, however.  She was very practical about most things but she’d loved expensive sheets and after trying them out John had been forced to agree they were a lot nicer to sleep in.

He made Sherlock’s bed quickly and tidily and took a quick glance around the room to make sure there was nothing on the floor for Sherlock to trip over; he tended to keep his room tidy unlike the rest of the flat but it didn’t hurt to check.  He went to the kitchen and turned the kettle on, figuring he could use a cup of tea before bed.  Then he filled a glass of water and carried it in to set on Sherlock’s nightstand.  

John knocked on the bathroom door and waited for a response, when none was forthcoming he knocked again and said softly, “Sherlock?”  John felt his heart start to race, why hadn’t he stayed near the bathroom?  What if something had happened and Sherlock had drowned?  What if his heart had stopped again?  What if he’d called out for John but he wasn’t there to hear him?  John pushed open the door and saw Sherlock leaning back in the tub with his head resting on the back, his eyes closed.  He rushed over and put his fingers to Sherlock’s neck seeking a pulse; Sherlock jerked under his hand and splashed water everywhere, soaking John and the rug.

John gave a shaky laugh and sank back to the floor with his back leaning against the wall.

“What on earth were you doing?” Sherlock asked.

“I knocked.” John said.  He let his head fall forward onto his knees.   _ You’re losing it Watson. _ he told himself.   _ You need to get your shit together; you’re no good to anyone like this _ .

“And when I didn’t answer you thought something had happened to me.  My apologies John; I just fell asleep.”

“No need to apologise.  It’s me, I’m just tired and overly emotional.  I’m sorry.” he lifted his head to see Sherlock leaning forward and wincing.  “Probably pretty difficult to reach your back and shoulders with your ribs.  Let me give you a hand.” 

“There’s no need.” Sherlock said hastily turning to look at John and looking slightly panicked.

John laughed, “I’m a doctor Sherlock, I’ve seen plenty of naked bodies.” he turned and grabbed a clean flannel from the shelf over the toilet.  “And I’m your doctor, I’ve seen and stitched up plenty of  _ your _ injuries.”

Before Sherlock could protest he was around the edge of the tub and wetting the flannel, he came up short when he saw Sherlock’s back.  What on earth had happened?  Sherlock was covered with long raised scars across his back, it looked like he’d been beaten and the wounds had been left infected and hadn’t been treated properly.  “Sherlock, what happened to you?”

He took in Sherlock’s body language, he was tensed up and although he was naked he had put up walls that made him impenetrable.  Strange how those walls had been down for so long that John had almost forgotten what they looked like on him.  “They’re hideous, I know.” Sherlock growled at him.  “Don’t worry, doctor, you needn’t touch them; as I said, there’s no need.  I can manage on my own.”

“No. Sherlock, that’s not...  No.”  John said, trying to get words to form sentences was proving too difficult a feat for him.  He gently ran the flannel over Sherlock’s skin.  “I’m not offended or disgusted or whatever it is you think I am.”

Sherlock pulled away from him, splashing more water on the floor in the process and stood from the tub in a flurry of movement that John was sure was quite painful for his ribs.  “I do not need your  _ pity _ , John.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock.” John said exasperated.  “I’m not  _ pitying  _ you, God forbid.  I just wanted to know what happened because I’m your friend and I care about you.”

Sherlock looked at John for a moment his face inscrutable as he looked for something in John.  John wasn’t sure if he found it or not, but after a moment Sherlock’s shoulders sagged and he whispered, “I can’t.”

“What?” John asked.

“I can’t talk about it tonight.  I’m just too tired and too...” he paused as though seeking the right word, “ _ sentimental. _ ” he looked up at John his eyes begging him to understand, to not ask him to explain.  “Please.  I will tell you someday, if you really want to know, but not today.”

John nodded.  “Probably for the best, I seem to be overly sentimental tonight, too.” he said handing Sherlock a towel.  Once Sherlock was dried off and in a pair of clean pajamas John said, “I put a glass of water on your nightstand if you’re thirsty and I put the kettle on if you’d like a cup of tea before bed.”

Sherlock shook his head, still oddly withdrawn.  “I just need some sleep.”

“Right.” John said, “If you need anything give me a shout.  I’ll be on the sofa.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Go to bed, John.  You could use a good night’s rest.”

John nodded, although he had no intention of sleeping in bed, just thinking about being that far out of earshot made him anxious and he couldn’t very well put a baby monitor in Sherlock’s room like he did with Evelyn.  “Right.  Well, sleep well and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, John.”

John closed the door behind him with a soft click and made a cup of tea, letting it steep while he spread blankets out onto the sofa.  He pulled his laptop over from the table, he needed to start figuring out details for Mary’s funeral; he’d already taken too long to put it together as it was.  He rubbed his hands over his eyes before opening a file where he’d saved information for the funeral that he had helped plan for Sherlock, at least he already knew a bit about the planning phase of this.  He found the information for the pastor and sent off an email to the florist.  He wondered idly what one did when there was no body to be buried, did you still have to call the undertaker?  How did that work with getting a tombstone made?  Before John had known what had happened to him, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa with his computer in his lap.

He woke up to the sound of Evelyn crying, although screeching might have been a more apt description.  Standing John stretched his muscles, his neck ached from the awkward angle it had been at while he slept and his shoulder was tense and stiff.  He groaned, this was intolerable.  John climbed the stairs and went over to Evelyn lifting her out he cuddled her to his chest and started rocking her back and forth.  “Hello, love.” he said softly.  “You’re alright.  Let’s just calm down before we head downstairs to get you something to eat, hmm?  Wouldn’t want to wake up Sherlock, would we?  He needs his rest.”  Slowly she quieted down until she was just sniffling at him.  “Perfect.” he said softly.  “That’s a good girl.” he spoke softly to her on the way down the stairs to the kitchen, nonsense but it seemed to keep her calm.  Sherlock had told him once about how babies found their parents voices soothing even if they couldn’t actually understand the words; apparently he could talk to her about decomposing body parts and as long as he sounded calm she would be, too.  John shuddered thinking about exposing this beautiful, innocent child to the horrors of the world, he had then, too, threatening Sherlock soundly and warning him against talking to his daughter about things like that.

He warmed up a bottle and fed Evelyn, she started to fall asleep mid-bottle, so John set the bottle down on the counter and rubbed and patted her back carrying her upstairs whilst burping her.  She was out like a light, dreaming about whatever it was that occupied babies’ minds at night and John stood at the edge of her cot once more staring down at her.  He pressed another kiss to her temple and headed back downstairs figuring he might as well check on Sherlock since he was already awake.  He very carefully pushed Sherlock’s door open and poked his head in.  Sherlock was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets; it looked like he’d had a hard time getting comfortable from the mess he’d made of his bedding.  

“John.” a sleepy voice grumbled out from under the blankets.

John smiled, now feeling quite justified at having popped his head in, Sherlock needed him anyway.  “Yeah?” he asked walking over toward the lump on the bed.  

“Come here.  Lay down.” Sherlock commanded.

“Pardon?” John asked.

A head poked out from under the blankets and Sherlock glared at him.  “Go fetch the baby monitor and get in my bed and go to sleep.”

“What?” John was completely befuddled. “Sherlock, are you hallucinating?” 

“John, I assure you I am quite in my right mind, if not a bit irritated.  This is the only option that makes sense.  Your shoulder and neck are already bothering you from the time you’ve spent asleep on the sofa.  You haven’t slept well because your subconscious is anxious about me; I don’t know for certain but I’ll hazard a guess based on how I woke up this morning that for the past two weeks you’ve slept feeling my pulse to reassure yourself I am alive for whatever reason.  You’ll sleep more soundly in a bed and you can check on me whenever you wake without waking me up.  You know I abhor repeating myself, especially when I am as exhausted as I am currently; go get the baby monitor and get back in here.”

John stared for a moment before he realized his mouth was slightly agape; even half asleep Sherlock had deduced more about him than anyone else could.  “But, the monitor will wake you up when Evelyn starts to cry.”

“No more than her actual crying or you moving up and down the stairs.” Sherlock growled.  “Please, John, I just want to go to sleep.”

John nodded dumbly and went to fetch the monitor from the living room.   _ Just for one night. _ He told himself firmly, reasoning that Sherlock’s logic was flawless per usual.  He moved back to the bedroom and stood uncertainly in the doorway.  Sherlock let out an almighty sigh and pulled the covers back on the left side of the bed and patted it gracelessly.  John moved cautiously toward the bed as though he were approaching a frightened, rapid animal.

“For heaven’s sake, John.” Sherlock spat.  “You invaded Afghanistan, surely getting into a bed can’t be that hard.”

John nodded and climbed into the bed beside Sherlock lying flat on his back as close to the edge of the bed and as far away from Sherlock as he could.  Sherlock sighed and John could practically see his eyeroll.  John turned his head to look at Sherlock and found Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and deducing him.  “This is wrong.” Sherlock said and John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “No, not that, you idiot.” Sherlock snapped.  John wasn’t really sure what he’d been thinking was wrong but Sherlock just waved his hand at him before rolling out of bed and coming around to the left side.  “Move over.”  John scooched across the mattress until he was on the right side.  “Turn on your side facing me.” Sherlock said in exasperation, his tone clearly asking John if he had to do everything.  Sherlock laid on his left side facing John and held out his hand, tentatively John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s wrist feeling for his pulse.

His mind slowed immediately as he felt his subconscious keeping time with Sherlock’s heart.  Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes, a moment later his breathing evened out and John realized he’d already fallen asleep.  John closed his eyes too and his last thought before he fell asleep was the realization that Sherlock had moved him to this side of the bed so he wasn’t sleeping on his bad shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

_ Sherlock _

There was a constant whining noise pulling Sherlock from the depths of his slumber.  He felt his mind fall back into his body and tried to place the unfamiliar sensations; he opened one eye to find that during their slumber John had rolled onto his back pulling Sherlock’s arm (and subsequently half of Sherlock’s upper body) with him across his chest, his fingers still wrapped around his wrist, touching his pulse.  John looked peaceful and content in his sleep and Sherlock couldn’t help smiling in response; the few times he’d let himself dream of John sleeping in his bed, he’d never imagined it under these circumstances.  Sherlock arched his back, pleased to find the pain in his ribs had diminished when the whining noise began again and Sherlock realized it was coming from the baby monitor.  He glanced at the clock, it was already 9:00 in the morning; no wonder Evelyn wanted to be up.  He reached over and turned the sound off on the monitor before carefully slipping his wrist from John’s grip.  He checked to be sure that John was still asleep before slipping his dressing gown over his pajamas and padding to the stairwell and starting the journey up the stairs.  

It was ridiculously difficult for him to reach the top, but significantly less so than it had been the day before and Sherlock felt the thrill of victory as he reached for the doorknob to John’s old room.  He came in and Evelyn looked up at him through tear soaked eyelashes her bottom lip protruding adorably.  Sherlock smiled at her and moved to lift her cautiously from the crib.  “Good morning, little one.” he said rocking her gently, attempting to imitate the movements he’d seen John and Mary perform countless times in the last eight months.  He walked her to the changing table and changed her nappy; probably with a bit more difficulty than he would admit but he managed.  He tossed the soiled one and the wipes in the trash can, glad that John and Lestrade had thought to set this room up as a nursery with John’s bed in the corner.  Evelyn still didn’t seem terribly pleased, she looked on the verge of tears again and Sherlock stared at her trying to decide what was wrong.  When one fat tear slid down her cheek Sherlock felt himself beginning to panic, “What is it?” he asked her.  “What do you want?” he stared at her a moment longer before it hit him, “Food!  You need to eat, of course you do!”

He picked her up again and moved toward the door, once it was open he saw the stairs and realized this was going to be quite a challenge.  “Listen,” he told the child who had mostly settled down in light of Sherlock moving toward breakfast.  “We’re going to have to do this very slowly, so I’m going to need you to be very patient with me.  John says you are the most agreeable baby he’s ever met, I’m going to need that to be the case.”  Sherlock took the first two steps before he amended his first statement, “I probably shouldn’t call him John, should I?  How silly of me.  Daddy says you’re the most agreeable, sweet baby in the history of the earth.” he said smiling at Evelyn who seemed content to move slowly down the stairs as long as Sherlock was paying attention to her.  

It took several minutes but Sherlock finally made it down the stairs in one piece with Evelyn held securely in his arms.  He went to the kitchen and sat Evelyn down in the highchair Mary and John had brought to 221B after Evelyn was born when they were still trying to hunt down Moriarty.  He dug through the cupboards in search of some of the baby food they’d left there when she was learning to eat solids.  He pulled a jar of sweet potatoes from the cupboard and waved it victoriously before returning to Evelyn and beginning the laborious process of feeding the mush to her bite by bite.  She had almost finished when Sherlock heard John gasp from the other room and let out an expletive before he was out of bed, calling out “Sherlock!” 

“In the kitchen!” Sherlock called back.  “My goodness,” he said to Evelyn, “Your daddy just doesn’t want to use his own eyes and his own logic.  He always wants me to do the thinking for him.”

John was in the kitchen a moment later looking frazzled.

“John?” Sherlock asked his concern leaking through into his voice.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

John shook his head and a moment later his eyes cleared.  “Nothing.  It’s nothing.  Did you bring her down here?”

Sherlock nodded as he fed her another bite.  “Of course.  She needed a fresh nappy and she was hungry.” 

“Right.” John said, “So you just thought, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop up the stairs to change an infant then carry her down said stairs in spite of the fact that I’ve only just gotten out of the hospital.’”

Sherlock looked up at John, “Yes.  Although in truth I didn’t really consider my just getting home when deciding to go upstairs.  Are you angry?  You’re angry.  Why are you angry?”

John blew out a breath and Sherlock watched, completely befuddled by his reaction.  “It could have been dangerous.  You could have gotten hurt, Evelyn could have gotten hurt.”

Sherlock felt his spine stiffen, “I was very careful, John.” John scowled at him.  “I was!” Sherlock said, mildly affronted.  “It took at least five minutes for us to even get downstairs.”

“Why did you go up to get her in the first place!? Why didn’t you just wake me up?” 

“She was crying.” Sherlock said, feeling himself waver slightly, damn these emotions, “I’m sorry.  I just...” Sherlock sucked in a breath and forced the tears that threatened to spill back; what was wrong with him?  “I just wanted you to be able to sleep a little longer, you’re burnt out.”

John deflated, “You did all this so I could sleep?” he asked.

“I just went upstairs, changed a nappy, and fed her some breakfast.” Sherlock scoffed.  “Certainly not the most difficult challenge ever presented to me.” he fed Evelyn another bite and wiped a bit of drool from her chin with her bib. 

Wearily John rubbed his forehead and looked down at the table. "Sorry." He mumbled. "You're right I am tired and I just panicked when I woke up and you weren't there." Sherlock watched as John stood and moved to the cupboard to pull down tea, such a typical John Watson response Sherlock mused. "It's ridiculous, I realize, but in my defense I had just woken up." He grumbled. 

"If I'd needed you I would have shouted." He stared at John until he looked up and when their eyes met he added, "I would never do anything that might endanger Evelyn." hoping John would see and hear his sincerity.

John nodded then turned back and made two cups of tea; one for Sherlock and one for himself. Sherlock accepted his with a closed lipped smile. After picking up Evelyn and washing her hands and face John set her into the playpen in the living room giving her a few toys to keep her entertained before setting about concocting something for breakfast that he'd no doubt insist Sherlock eat. "Right." John said as though he'd just come to some enormous decision in his mind. "So I need to get Mary's funeral planned today. I thought I might call Molly and see if she could stay with you and Evelyn."

Sherlock snorted, "I don't need a nanny, John. I'm a thirty five year old man."

"That's true but you've also just come out of a coma and my daughter isn't even one yet, she certainly needs a sitter."

Sherlock paused feeling suddenly and ridiculously anxious about what he was about to offer.  “Perhaps I might be of assistance?  I could watch her?” he said, hating how the statement came out more as a question.  “I’ll be here all day, regardless.” he hurried to add.  “And Mrs. Hudson will be here and Lestrade will be popping in early this afternoon.  And you won’t be gone the whole day and if there were an emergency I could call your mobile.”

John stared at him for a moment, “Do you even  _ want _ to watch Evelyn?” he sounded slightly incredulous but not unkindly so, it was more like he just couldn’t believe it would be something Sherlock would actually do.  His voice softened further, “You don’t have to do this.” he laid a gentle hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and Sherlock felt like his heart was trembling in his chest at this show of tenderness.  “You don’t owe me anything, there’s nothing to...” he paused, clearly in search of the right word “Atone for.”

“John, if you don’t want me to watch your child just say so.  It’s fine.” Sherlock snapped trying to cover up his hurt, pulling away from John’s grasp and standing so he could physically distance himself from that which he had no means of doing so emotionally.  He turned to face the cupboard, back stubbornly to John.  Of course John was just trying to make him feel better.  Of course he didn’t want Evelyn to stay with him, he’d been responsible for the death of his wife.  Why would he ever trust Sherlock again?

“Sherlock.” John said, tugging his shoulder lightly to turn him back around, “Talk to me, yeah?” he said.  “Look, I’d be happy to have you stay with Evelyn if you’re up to it.” he smiled.  “There’s no one I’d trust to watch her more than you.”

Sherlock looked up at John through his eyelashes, “Do you mean that?” he breathed before he could stop himself.

“Well, yeah.” John said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  “Of course I do.”

“Even after...” Sherlock swallowed and wished his mouth would stop speaking without his brain’s permission.

“After what, Sherlock?”

“After what happened to Mary.” Sherlock whispered, tears filling his eyes.  He fought to swallow them down to hide the product of his ridiculous sentiment.  He felt all the anger and guilt and shame, his failure and his loathing all rose up in his throat making him feel mildly nauseous.  This was intolerable.  How could people live like this?  With emotions running rampant through their minds, how could they think, how could they function?  No wonder people were such idiots, he thought bitterly.  Mycroft was right, nothing good could come from feeling this way.

“Sherlock.  I can’t... That wasn’t... No one thinks...” John began spluttering and Sherlock really had no idea what he was trying to say.  Before Sherlock could even process what had happened, John had pulled him into a tight embrace.  Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck; the tears he’d fought so valiantly refusing to stay inside and what he had thought was nausea turned into wracking sobs.  It felt as though his body was convulsing, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.  Eventually Sherlock started to calm down enough that he could feel John running his fingers lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck whispering nonsense the way he did when he was trying to calm Evelyn down.  Sherlock felt completely ridiculous and started to pull away but John didn’t let him get more than six inches away before he was reaching up and wiping away Sherlock’s tears with such tenderness that Sherlock felt as though his heart had shattered.  “Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes.” John started without taking his hands from Sherlock’s face.  “ _ No one _ blames you for Mary’s death;  _ I  _ don’t blame you for Mary’s death; that was her choice, her sacrifice to keep her family safe and that includes you.  How could you possibly think that I would blame you for her death?”

“It’s my fault.” Sherlock croaked, his voice raw from crying, “In the cellar you told me to fix it, you told me to stop the bomb, to think, to get us out of there.  You believed in me, John and I failed you and because of that you lost the most important person in your life.”

John shook his head, “There was nothing you could have done, Sherlock.  There was nothing anyone could have done.  I’m sorry I made you feel responsible for that, I was panicked and scared and you were the only lifeline I had.”

“I was the reason we were there in the first place.” Sherlock said unsure why he was fighting so hard for John to see his point so he could hate him.  “I should have known it was a trap.  I should have called for back up sooner.”

“You  _ and Mary _ were the reason we were there; you both worked so hard to track him.” he laughed slightly.  “I felt superfluous in that entire process; wandering around making tea, listening to the two of you babble nonsense at me.  It wasn’t until the two of you were working together that I realized how truly similar the two of you were.  She was a sight more cheerful and polite, mind, but you are both bloody brilliant.  Don’t forget that she didn’t see it coming either; you both thought that it would be fine and I just tagged along with a gun.  Don’t blame yourself for this Sherlock, it’s not your fault.  Trust me.  I may not be as brilliant as you, but I know a thing or two about survivor's guilt.  This will eat you alive if you let it and I’ll die before I let you gut yourself for something you’ve no business taking the blame for.  Do you understand me?” his voice turned stern at the end and Sherlock heard the tone of command that John had undoubtedly used in the military.

Sherlock nodded once.

“I said, do you understand me?” John growled, clearly not accepting Sherlock’s nod as a valid answer.

“Yes.” Sherlock said softly, then with a smirk he said, “Or should I say,  _ yes, sir _ ?” 

And just like that the tension and unbearable emotional turmoil broke and it was just the two of them; Sherlock and John, John and Sherlock as it had always been.  “Bloody wanker.” John said but he was grinning from ear to ear when he turned back to slicing the vegetables he’d been preparing before that brutally honest conversation had happened.

“Language, John Watson.” Sherlock tutted.  “Do you really want to be the parent who sends their child to preschool swearing like a sailor?” 

John groaned whilst cracking half a dozen eggs into a bowl and beating them, “Sherlock, you were the one who told me that I can say anything to her and she won’t understand.”

“Yes.  But not for much longer.”

John laughed, “You’re probably right.  Maybe we should start a swear jar.” John mused.

“A what?” Sherlock asked crinkling his nose at the obvious colloquialism. 

“You know,” John said as he poured the eggs into the pan he’d been sauteeing the vegetables in.  “A jar that you put a pound into every time you swear.  Then when the jar’s full you give it to charity or do something good with it.”

“Nope.  Never heard of a ‘swear jar.’” Sherlock said.  “All the money going in will be yours, you realize.”

John laughed, “That’s probably true.  We should add talking about grisly murders in front of the baby.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Murder and death are just a part of life.”

“Can you put some toast down, please?” John asked. “And that may be true but if your argument for me not swearing was that we didn’t want her going to preschool and swearing in front of her mates we equally do not want her going to preschool and talking about severed limbs and stranglings.  Her teachers would probably be far more distressed about that than about a couple of naughty words.”

“Hmmm.” Sherlock murmured, distracted by the ‘we’ that had passed John’s lips.  A thrill ran through him at the thought of John and Evelyn staying forever.   The toaster popped and without thinking consciously about it Sherlock moved to the counter and buttered it.     


“Cheers.” John said, scooping eggs onto each of the plates before moving toward the table with both of them and setting one in front of Sherlock’s place and then his own.  He turned around to the fridge and started to open the door.

“John!” Sherlock shouted, panicked at having him open the refrigerator, “Don’t open that door.”

Evelyn, clearly startled by his shout, started to cry.  John turned to look at him, “What the hell, Sherlock?” he asked as he moved to lift Evelyn from the play pen.

“I can assure you, you would have regretted opening that door.  I fear I may have left an experiment in there for far too long.  Although, in my defense, I was trying to save Mary from Magnussen, then I was trying to hunt down Moriarty, and then I was in a coma.” he said sheepishly.  

John rolled his eyes, "I know you berk. I opened the fridge yesterday and almost had an aneurism. Luckily Greg was here and he generously cleaned out the refrigerator. Additionally," John said a hint of amusement in his voice, "I've opened the refrigerator on three separate occasions this morning while making tea and breakfast and it didn't occur to you to stop me."

"Well, I had other things on my mind." Sherlock sniffed. 

John grinned at him as he set Evelyn in her highchair. "Right. Well thank you for trying." John put a small plate on Evelyn's tray and moved some of his eggs unto it for her, carefully avoiding the large chunks of vegetables she wouldn't be able to chew. 

The ate in relative quiet, Evelyn smashing more of her eggs than actually eating them, something John didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Sherlock ate most of his eggs and left only the crusts of his toast uneaten and once John was finished he took both of their plates and the one Evelyn was playing in and scraped them into the rubbish bin. "Wipe her hands for me, would you?" He asked handing Sherlock a flannel as he began washing the dishes. 

Dutifully, Sherlock wiped her hands and face, talking to her to calm her as she scrunched her nose and tried to pull away. Once she was clean again he picked her up and walked over to where John was washing the dishes.  When John finished up he turned to look at the two of them a grin tipping up the corner of his mouth.  “Right.  So, you’re sure you’re okay to watch her?”

Sherlock nodded, “We’ll be fine and if we aren’t I’ll call Mrs. Hudson.”

“I’m going to shower and get dressed then.” John left the room and Sherlock put Evelyn in what John and Mary called an “exersaucer” when they’d brought it home a few months ago.  Sherlock had been completely befuddled by the contraption at first; apparently they were quite popular and safe as long as it wasn’t one of the ones with wheels.  It allowed Evelyn to play with the contraptions on the front and strengthen her legs; but Sherlock always felt slightly leery of them, he could never bring himself to go far from her when she was in it.  He sat down on the floor with his back against the sofa with a  bit of difficulty beside Evelyn and pulled the newspaper down into his lap.  He began reading out the articles to her, picking them apart and telling her where all the inaccuracies were.  

It startled him when John giggled from the doorway, he looked up and couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face in return.  “Well, I’m off.” John said.  He came over to the two of them and pressed a kiss first to Evelyn’s head then turned and did the same to Sherlock.

Sherlock froze, completely unable to move, shocked at the contact.  

“Errrm.  Sorry.” John said turning a bright red across his cheeks and down his neck.

“It’s..” Sherlock cleared his throat, his voice coming out scratchy and wrong, “It’s fine.”

“Right.  See you later then.  Call me if you need me.” and John was out the door so quickly it was as though he’d never been there in the first place.  

Sherlock let his head fall back against the sofa.  “Your father is the most confusing man I’ve ever met.” he said, Evelyn cooed at him and he fancied it sounded like she agreed.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be forewarned, this chapter is a case related chapter (set in John's voice because I'm far from clever enough to think like Sherlock.) There is a bit of violence (nothing terribly graphic) and it talks about kidnapping/sextrafficing (again, nothing graphic or untoward). I just wouldn't want anyone to be caught unaware. 
> 
> Additionally, I know absolutely nothing about gangs; the gangs mentioned were the ones that came up in my google search.

_ John _

_ Two Months Later _

John Watson was many things; he was a doctor and a soldier, he had a temper but somehow always managed to attract the people that brought out a temper most and tolerated them well, he was a good man, and he was a father.  John Watson was not and never had been a coward.  He’s been afraid, of course he has, anyone who has seen the things he’s seen and lived to tell the tale would have been a bloody fool not to have been afraid at some point but he’d always conquered those fears no matter what it took.  But there was one fear in his life that he had never quite been able to conquer; something that he had never been afraid of before he met a certain man named Sherlock Holmes, something he hadn’t been afraid of with anyone since.  John Watson who had invaded Afghanistan, who had run beside Sherlock Holmes in his mad adventures, who had become a husband and father was terrified of aforementioned Sherlock Holmes’ rejection.  In every way one could be afraid of being rejected by another, John was afraid of being rejected by Sherlock.  

It was this thought which occupied John’s mind on this grey morning as he lay in bed staring at Sherlock.  They hadn’t given up on the strange arrangement Sherlock had proposed his first night back in 221B and most nights John still fell asleep with his fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock seemed content to allow him this so they’d never talked about it again after that first night. And now, as John lay absorbed in his thoughts and fears taking in Sherlock’s sleep mussed curls, his rosy cheeks warm from slumber, and his fluttering eyelashes John realized how completely and ridiculously in love he was with Sherlock bloody Holmes.  Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d had this epiphany but Sherlock had been “married to his work” and John had respected that.  How could he not?  But it seemed different this time, John was fairly sure he hadn’t changed a bit since the early days.  He’d still follow Sherlock anywhere at the drop of a hat, his work at the clinic had been reminded in the past months since Sherlock’s recovery of all the reasons John had been a less than exemplary employee when they’d first hired him.  John’s complete devotion to Sherlock at the expense of everything else (with the obvious exception of Evelyn) was exactly the same as it had always been; in fact it was comfortingly familiar and John loved every moment of it.  

No, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that Sherlock was the one who had changed.  At first he hadn’t been entirely sure, Sherlock still picked the most preposterous cases for which he was the only one in the world who could actually solve them.  They still leapt across rooftops and chased after criminals.  They still helped Lestrade when he called and Sherlock was still just as much of a prick to Anderson and Donovan or anyone else who had the misfortune to cross his path and say something Sherlock deemed stupid. 

But there were differences, too. They were home every night by seven (always in time for Evelyn's bedtime, at the very least John noted). Sherlock had only taken one case that took him outside of London (at John's insistence) and they'd been back that same night; that case Sherlock had solved brilliantly and John had been utterly amazed.  Sherlock almost always ate what John made him or at least part of it and he had come to bed every night since he’d come back to Baker Street with only one exception.  (John had slept incredibly poorly that night and Sherlock had been unbearably grouchy the next day which had caused Evelyn to cry all day which only exacerbated everyone’s symptoms.  Sherlock hadn’t said a word about it, but now even when he was in the middle of a case he came to bed for at least 4 hours.)  He seemed to positively adore Evelyn; John found himself irrationally jealous some days when he came home from the clinic to find the two of them laying on the floor having conversations as though Sherlock could understand her babbling and she could understand his ranting. Evelyn loved him, too, there had even been times that she’d wanted Sherlock over John.  John might have felt upset if not for the apologetic looks Sherlock sent him as though he were afraid John would be hurt by it.

Sherlock had been careful with John, John wasn't quite sure how to explain it, even to himself, but it was as though Sherlock wanted to throw himself into danger in John's stead.  He never said anything directly or told John not to do something because it was dangerous (he told him not to do something because it was stupid, absolutely, but that had always been the case, John reasoned.) but John got the sense that Sherlock was watching him in a way he never had before, as though John were the first thing he thought about at any given moment.  Secretly, and John would  _ never _ admit this to anyone, it gave him a thrill to think that Sherlock cared so much for his well being.  Although, his brain argued once more, Sherlock always had cared about John (he had jumped off of Barts to save his life) he just had never been incredibly good at showing it.

The way he displayed emotions had changed, too.  Maybe Sherlock didn’t allow anyone but John to see but he’d opened up to him multiple times after Mary’s death.  John was hoping they were turning the corner on that one, Sherlock was struggling to get past the guilt for not having saved her. They’d had conversation after conversation when Sherlock was upset or felt incapable of something and nine times out of ten it came back to not saving Mary.  Honestly, John wasn’t quite sure what else he could say about the matter.  They’d had Mary’s service a week after Sherlock had gotten out of his coma; it had been a quiet affair but lovely.  Sherlock had sat stone faced through the entire thing but had agreed to come with John to the graveside later that day, he’d surprised John once they’d gotten there by asking if he could have a moment alone with her.  He still wondered sometimes what Sherlock had said, if he’d apologized or if there was a secret they had shared that John had never known.  In some of his crazier moments before he dropped off to sleep, he imagined that Mary was still alive and the two had staged the entire thing but John couldn’t imagine Mary leaving their child.  Furthermore, Sherlock’s tears and guilt were far too real to have been faked; Sherlock was a good actor, John would be the first to admit it, but he wasn’t that good.

There were other emotions apart from the grief and guilt, too.  Times when Sherlock let himself be happy; when he let himself really smile and laugh and let his walls down.  There was a tenderness that John had never seen before that radiated for his entire being when he was playing with or cuddling Evelyn.  And sometimes that tenderness extended from Evelyn to John as well, moments when they were sitting on the sofa watching telly and caught one another’s eyes; Sherlock would give him that half grin his eyes so warm that John turned into a puddle of goo before one of them would blink and the moment would be over.  Or when Sherlock did the wash, or the dishes, or the shopping and John could feel that it was a gesture meant to be more than just doing chores even if neither of them used the words.  And somehow these small things meant more to John than jumping off a building ever could.  

He loved this man with his whole heart and the strange thing was, he didn’t really feel any guilt about it.  John had suspected he might when he first started thinking about Sherlock this way again; Mary had only died a little under three months ago.  But he didn’t feel any guilt.  He and Mary had talked a lot about Sherlock and she had eventually coaxed out the words Ella had tried when he had come to see her after Sherlock’s death.  It had been a heartfelt, tear-filled confession when he had told Mary that he loved Sherlock Holmes, that he was sure a part of him always would.  And Mary, bless her, had just said ‘Well of course you do.’  She had been completely fine sharing his heart with Sherlock even when she was alive, he doubted very much that she would mind now in death.

But all of these thoughts didn’t change the fact that John Watson was scared of rejection; rather, John was quite certain, they enhanced it.  What they had right now was good, better than good.  He could quite happily live out the rest of his life just like this; sharing his life with Sherlock, having constant companionship, and a sort of love that was completely undefined.  It was unfair to ask Sherlock to change everything he was just to have what other people deemed a normal relationship; Sherlock Holmes may care a great deal for John Watson but he didn’t love him, not the way John loved Sherlock.  It just felt harder to make that distinction now than it had before the fall.

“Jooohn.” Sherlock’s voice grumbled about an octave lower from where it had sunk while he slept, startling John out of his revery.  “What could you possibly be thinking about so bloody loudly at this godforsaken time of the morning?”

John smiled and couldn’t (well, he could have but he didn’t want to) stop his hand from coming up to brush a curl back from Sherlock’s face, “Nothing.  Just thinking about how happy I am.”

Sherlock opened one eye to look at him, “Mmmmm not quite the whole truth.  If it were, you wouldn’t be awake this bloody early, you would have smiled and gone back to sleep.  You’re feeling anxious about something.  Is it Evelyn?” Sherlock asked and John could practically hear his brain start whirring as he closed his eye again.  “If it’s about her walking,” Sherlock said through a yawn, “My research shows that it’s perfectly normal for babies not to have started walking by 10 months.  I even phoned mummy about it, she was thrilled by the way, I couldn’t get her off the line for half an hour; she’s dying to meet Evelyn.  She told me that I didn’t start walking until I was almost 14 months old and Mycroft didn’t start until after he was 16 months and we’re both geniuses.” he sniffed.  “Evelyn just has better things to occupy her mind than mundane tasks like walking.  All that potential John, all that elasticity in her brain; she’s going to be brilliant.”

John knew he was grinning like a loon but he couldn’t help it (well, he could be he didn’t want to do that either.)  

Sherlock opened his eyes, both of them this time, “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” John said, “I lo..” he choked on his words, on his traitorous tongue and literally started to cough.  When he got his cough under control he hoped that he would be able to cover his blunder without Sherlock noticing, he said, “I love that you take her development so seriously.  I’m just happy to be here with the two of you.”

At that Sherlock smiled, a real genuine smile that he only truly gave John or Evelyn (that smile always gave John butterflies like he was some stupid hormonal adolescent again) and said, “Me too.” 

Sherlock's phone started ringing, it was the tone he'd set for Lestrade, so John knew there was no hope of it going unanswered in favor of the comfortable conversation happening in bed. "Duty calls." Sherlock said as he rolled away from John to grab his mobile. "Hello?"

John could hear Greg's voice coming through the tiny speaker asking incredulously, "Did I wake you up?"

"No." Sherlock huffed. "Honestly Lestrade, did you call at 6 in the morning for a chat? What next, shall we have sleep overs and plait one another's hair?"

John heard Lestrade chuckle, "Good luck plaiting my hair, mate."

“Lestrade.” Sherlock growled warningly.

“Go wake John up and tell him to make you a coffee, you’re a cranky bugger in the morning.”

Sherlock glanced at John, “I’m perfectly capable of making my own coffee.”

Lestrade just laughed, “Listen, there’s been an abduction.” John didn’t need to listen to the rest to know that it was a case they’d be taking so he rolled out of bed and went to use the loo before padding to the kitchen to make some breakfast.  

He heard the door creak open in the livingroom and Mrs. Hudson call, “Yoo hoo!”

“In the kitchen.” John called back softly, hoping not to wake Evelyn just yet.

“Good morning, dear.” she said as she came in and pressed a kiss to John’s cheek.  John was a bit taken aback by the gesture, to be honest, he knew that Mrs. Hudson was fond of him but gestures like that were usually reserved for Sherlock or special occassions where John was concerned.

“Good morning.” he said with a smile her direction, noticing that she was bringing up some tea and scones.  “Listen, Mrs. Hudson, would it be too much to ask you to watch Evelyn today?  Sherlock’s got a case on, kidnapping from the sounds of it.”

“Of course not.” she said with a smile.

“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson, you’re a saint.  And thank you for breakfast, this looks lovely.  I will be looking into a nanny for her, you and Sherlock shouldn’t have to do it all the time.”

“Don’t you dare!” she chided him.  “Oh, I just adore her.  I’d always wanted children, you know.”

“If you’re sure.” John said, he hated feeling like he was taking advantage of her kindness but he knew Sherlock would hate having Evelyn anywhere but here, be loved the days that he had off with her.  “Be sure to let me know if it starts to feel like too much, yeah?”

She waved him off and picked the baby monitor up off the counter, “You two be careful today, you watch after him.”

“I will.” John said smiling at her.

“Oh, honestly.” Sherlock said from the doorway startling both John and Mrs. Hudson.  “I’m completely capable of looking after myself, despite what you and Geoff seem to think.”

“Greg.” John corrected absently as he made Sherlock’s tea.

Sherlock huffed but John smiled at him, handing him his tea and a scone before saying, “Tell me about the case.”

“An agent working undercover on a human trafficking case was abducted.  They suspect that it was the ring she’d been working to bring down but she’s missed her last 3 check-ins.  Additionally, a young woman with similar height, build, and hair color was picked up out of a market parking lot last night.  The witness couldn’t tell Lestrade much about the abduction; the young woman was picked up in a white van without plates and the men were wearing masks.  Apparently, this is a ring the government’s been trying to bring down for a few years.  Imagine if we solved it in a few days, John.” Sherlock said with the mad gleam of the chase in his eyes and John couldn’t help but smile back.

“Right.  Let’s get the bastards, then.”

“What are you waiting for?  Go get dressed.”  John shook his head but acquiesced taking the second half of his scone with him on his way up the stairs.  “Oh and John?” Sherlock called after him.  “You owe the swear-jar some money.”

 

They had left the house in less than a quarter of an hour and had gone straight to the Yard; Sherlock had reviewed the files and watched the video surveillance from outside the market.  “They’re good.” Sherlock said, “But did you see that tattoo on that man’s neck?” he said pointing to the screen at the blurry picture captured by pausing the video.

“What about it?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It’s a crown with five points; a common tattoo for gang members in the Latin Kings.”  When Greg continued to stare at him blankly, Sherlock huffed and continued, “They’re an American gang formed in the 1960’s made up initially of Puerto Ricans and based originally out of Chicago; there are chapters in Ecuador, Italy, Peru, and Spain as well.  Additionally, he’s done time.”

“How can you tell?” John asked.

Sherlock hit play on the video once more then paused again capturing a picture of the man’s hand “Those five dots there? They are representative of time in prison; one dot for each of the prison walls and the one in the middle to represent the criminal in prison.”

“Right, very deep, that.” Lestrade said, “So how does this help us?”

Sherlock gave him a withering look, “You’re going to go through prison records where a gang member from the Latin Kings and a gang member from The Bloods were put in a cell together and left as best friends.” Sherlock turned, “Come on, John.”

John followed him out, Lestrade shouting at him asking, “How do you know about The Bloods connection?” 

“Look at his shoes!” Sherlock shouted back at him as though that was obvious.

John followed Sherlock down the hall, he knew better than to interrupt Sherlock's thinking right now with questions so he walked silently and let Sherlock think. 

After a moment Sherlock turned to him and said, "This should actually be quite simple. Luckily I have a woman in my homeless network who was part of the Latin Kings gang and is still linked in with all of the best gossip." 

"So we told Lestrade to look into prison records when we'll know the answer in an hour because..." John trailed off letting the question hang in the air.

"Well we have to let him feel like he has something to contribute.  Besides, she might not know anything about this particular man; he might be out of the gang far enough by now or be in a chapter too far removed from her old one."

John left it alone and after a twenty minute cab ride around the city trying to locate Esther they'd found her, she'd given them a name and location, and Sherlock was flagging down another cab.  As they climbed in John asked, “Should we call Lestrade now?”

Sherlock grunted.  “I suppose, although that does take all the fun out of the hunt.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” John responded.  “Maybe we can just text him when we get there, make sure the details pan out first?  We wouldn’t want to waste his time, would we?”  

Sherlock grinned at him and John grinned back.  When they arrived and looked at the building John and was pulled back to the night that he, Sherlock, and Mary went to the warehouse where Mary had died and Sherlock had almost died.  He glanced over at Sherlock and wondered if he might be feeling the same, “Text Lestrade.” Sherlock said without inflection.  John did as Sherlock asked.  Then Sherlock looked at him and said, “You stay here and wait for Lestrade and I’ll head in and scope out the building.”

“You’re joking, right?” John asked with a snort as he pulled his gun out.

“Of course not.”

“Yeah.  Not a chance in hell.” John said, deadly serious and he could see that Sherlock knew it, too.  Every time John used his  _ Captain _ John Watson voice, Sherlock’s subconscious made him stand a little straighter and become a little more receptive to what John was saying.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing a bit of reconnaissance without you.” Sherlock said.

“That well may be, but I’m not letting you out of my sight when there are a bunch of sex traffickers nearby.”

“Please.” Sherlock sneered, “Sex traffickers are infantile compared to some of the men I’ve dealt with.”

“You would be dead a dozen times over by now if it weren’t for me.” John hissed.

“That’s entirely untrue.” Sherlock responded.  “I dismantled an entire criminal network completely alone in two years and returned unscathed.”

“That’s not what the scars on your back say.” John regretted it as soon as the words were out of his lips.  Sherlock flinched away from him as though John had physically struck him and it made his stomach twist uncomfortably.  “I’m sorry.” John said reaching out a hand and laying it on Sherlock’s arm.  “I didn’t mean to make you upset or uncomfortable and it wasn’t fair of me to bring up the past I know nothing about.” Although, John added mentally, he did want to know what had happened but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t push.  “I’m not letting you go in there alone.  So you have three choices.  Number one, we go in there and see what we’re up against, solve a crime and save some lives.  Number two, we wait for Lestrade and back up, this might take a while since he’ll need a warrant but we will still probably get the bastards and save some lives, too.”

“What’s choice three?” Sherlock asked

“You can knock me out and go in by yourself but I’d be bloody furious so that option isn’t recommended.”

Sherlock snorted.  “Fine.  You can come but be careful and be quiet we’re just going to look and get an idea of what we are up against.”

John nodded, “Let’s go, then.”  He followed Sherlock as they scaled the wall and pulled themselves into a window on the second floor of the building.  They were on a platform that overlooked the factory; the only thing they saw were several young women in cages around the room.  “Oh, God.” John breathed, taking in the horror of the scene.  The women were filthy; sitting in cages with their own vomit and excrement, their hair stringy and matted, their clothes ragged and dirty.  Clearly, they had been through quite an ordeal already and John’s heart ached for them.  Looking around John didn’t see anyone guarding them.  “Where are the people who are supposed to be watching them?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea.” Sherlock replied.  

“We have to get them out of here.” John said starting toward the nearest set of stairs to the cages.

“John, we can’t.”

“We can.” John argued.

Sherlock put a hand on his arm, “If we let them go now, the ring will know we’re on to them and they will get away.”

“Sherlock, we can’t leave them here.  They need medical attention, they need help.”

“But John, think about all of the future lives you are putting at risk if we don’t take these men down.  If we tip them off they will escape and they will just go after more women.  I don’t like leaving them but we don’t have a choice.”

Before John could respond they heard the tell tale click of a gun being cocked, “‘Ello, gents.  Your pal there is right.” he said tilting his head toward Sherlock.  “If you’d freed these girls we would have just found more to replace them; surprisingly easy when you know where to look.” he smiled, “Lucrative business, this.  ‘Fraid I can’t let you live after what you’ve seen, though.”

“I wouldn’t kill us if I were you.” Sherlock said, drawing the man’s attention and subsequently his gun toward Sherlock rather than John.  The sight made John nauseous and he immediately begin formulating ways to get the gun off of Sherlock or of disarming the gunman.  Sherlock continued talking, “My name is Sherlock Holmes.  Perhaps you’ve heard of me?  Yes, I can tell you have and you know that if even half of the rumors you’ve heard about what I’ve done are true you are completely doomed."  Sherlock looked the man up and down before tutting, "Think about your dogs at home, what would they do if I was to snap your stupid head off your neck?  They would end up in shelters for certain, treated as poorly as the women you hold captive downstairs.”  The man looked undecided for a moment as if Sherlock’s speech had swayed him.  

But John saw the moment when he decided to kill them; he’d seen it on men’s faces before, the narrowing of the eyes, the set of his jaw, the way his eyes became hard as steel as though his brain were distancing itself from the act.  John lunged the moment he saw it, knocking Sherlock off balance and out of the way as the gun went off grazing his upper arm near the scar that showed where he had almost lost his life in Afghanistan.  John was up in a flash, lunging at the man and throwing him to the ground.  “I know Sherlock said he was the one you should be worried about but my name is Captain John Watson, and he couldn’t have been more wrong.  I’m a soldier, I’ve killed people and some of them I haven’t lost a wink of sleep over.  Would you like to be next?”  John bashed the man’s head against the floor and knocked him out but before he could do more Sherlock was behind him, pulling him off.  John stood panting and looked Sherlock over for injuries, “Are you alright?” he asked and even he could hear the panic in his voice.

“You got shot and you’re asking if I’m alright?” he moved closer and gently took John’s arm in his hands pulling apart the fabric that was sticking to John’s skin.  John hissed.  “Sorry.” Sherlock said as he glanced up at him but the worry on Sherlock’s face made the pain lessen and he allowed Sherlock to check his arm. Heaven knew that if the roles had been reversed he wouldn’t have given Sherlock a choice in the matter. After a moment more poking around he released John’s arm, “It doesn’t look too bad, you’ll probably need a few stitches.” Sherlock turned away from him and started down the stairs.  “You’re an idiot.”

“What? Why?”

“You just had to be the hero and jump in front of the gun.”

“If I hadn’t you would have died.” John huffed.  “Look, we don’t have time to argue about this now.  We need to figured out how to hunt down the rest of this bloody ring and how to get the girls out of here.”

“Oh that part’s boring.  He’s the only one here but he’ll lead Lestrade to the rest of them if Lestrade offers to put in a good word for him.  He was a foolish person for them to entrust so much information to.” A moment later, as if on cue Greg and the rest of his men broke down the door with their guns at the ready.  “Put the guns down.” Sherlock shouted.  “We’ve already disarmed the only person here.”

Lestrade turned to look up at them, “Seriously, you couldn’t have told us that before we stormed in here?”

“Apologies, we were busy disarming said criminal.” Sherlock said sarcastically.  

John started moving down the stairs, “We need to get these women out of here and to a hospital.  It looks like they’ve been pretty heavily sedated.”

The next twenty minutes were a blur as John helped the paramedics get all of the women into ambulances.  After the last one was loaded in Sherlock came over dragging a paramedic along behind him.  “John sit down.  This man is going to stitch your arm back up.”

John smiled at the bloke and gingerly pulled off his jacket and jumper leaving him in just his vest.

“That could have been a lot worse.” Lestrade said wandering over to where John, Sherlock, and the paramedic were.

“Yes. It could have.” Sherlock agreed, glaring at John.

“It’s fine.” John said, “Barely a scratch.”

“What happened?” Lestrade asked.  There was a tense silence as neither Sherlock or John answered.  “What did the two of you do?  Was it illegal, is that why you don’t want to tell me?  Have to get your story straight first?”

“No, no.  Nothing like that.” John assured him.  “That lovely piece of scum that you dragged away in handcuffs shot at Sherlock and I shoved him out of the way.  Sherlock being the arse that he is, is mad at me for saving his life.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched and he turn on his heel and stormed away in a great swirl of coat.

John groaned, “I just don’t understand him.” he complained, knowing that Lestrade was the most sympathetic ear he would ever have.  “I save the idiot’s life and he can’t even be a little grateful; I mean how badly could he want all the credit?  He’s such a drama queen.”

Lestrade stared at him as though he’d grown two heads, “You’ve got to be shitting me.  You might well be the densest man on the entire planet.” He shook his head and amended, “Well either you or that overgrown child that just stomped out of here.” 

"Oh ta Greg." John said rolling his eyes. "As if I don't hear that enough."

"He wasn't trying to take the credit. He was scared, John. He was afraid that you'd gotten hurt and he wouldn't ever be able to live with being the reason that you were hurt."

It was John's turn to stare dumbly, he knew Sherlock cared but not the way Lestrade was implying. "Why? Why does he care, Greg?" John couldn't bring himself to say the words, to ask Greg how Sherlock loved him, if maybe his love weren't as unrequited as he'd imagined.  But from the way Greg's eyes softened and his mouth drew up at the corners John could tell he knew what John was trying to say. 

"I've known Sherlock a long time, you know.  But I’ve never seen him care about someone the way he does for you. The way he feels about you is entirely unique, it’s an entirely new and awfully painful experience for him.  You are the only thing Sherlock Holmes cares about.  Sure, he’ll be a giant toddler about not having cases, and he’ll call you an idiot for not understanding something that no one can even see but he loves you, John and everyone sees it and knows it but you.  You love Sherlock Holmes and everybody sees it and knows it but him.  Both of you are willing to do anything for the other but can’t stand having the same done for you.  Imagine if the roles today had been reversed, if you’d been the one who had the gun turned on you and Sherlock got shot in the arm trying to save your life.  You’d be lecturing him until kingdom come about reckless behavior, you would have felt just as scared as he did.  Just because he expresses how he feels differently than you do, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same.”  Greg exhaled and shook his head as if he’d said something that had been bothering him for quite some time.

John stared at him for a moment, “Do you really think so?”

“Yes.  You bloody idiot.” Greg said fondly.  “You two will be the death of me.”

“I’ve got to go.” John said, this changed everything, shooing the paramedic who had just finished taping down his bandage and pulling on his jumper and starting toward the door.  He needed to find Sherlock and they needed to have a long talk.

“Yeah, and I better be a bloody groomsman this time!” he shouted after John.  “And you damn well better invite me to stag night.”

John stomach flipped thinking of the implications of what Greg was saying but he didn’t have time to sit and ponder it as he ran out to the main road in search of a taxi to take the ride that would change his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to the lovely Megabat for giving me some Brit-picks to help with this chapter! Please, please always let me know if you see any mistakes that I can fix to make this story better. <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A resolution of the tension and angst! Hooray!

_ Sherlock _

Sherlock stood in the living room of 221B holding Evelyn on his hip and pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.  He knew he was muttering to himself; he knew these bloody emotions were out of control.  Sherlock had honestly believed that once he’d gotten over the trauma of Mary dying he would be able to go back to being who he’d been before.  But he was starting to wonder if maybe he’d changed before that and just hadn’t really noticed it; he thought about how completely miserable he was when John got married.  As a consulting detective he’d made it his business to know what happened to people when they had their heart broken.  He’d read all of the studies done on heartbroken people; he knew the effects of dopamine on the brain and could thus understand (in a strictly scientific sense) how it literally becomes like a drug that your brain seeks the next hit of.  He understood the science behind heartbreak that said people would literally have pain and nausea, difficulty breathing, and even weakening of the heart muscles (Takotsubo cardiomyopathy; his brain supplied) due to the influx of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline flooding their system.  But he could never quite figure out how a person could let that happen to themselves; it was just a function of the human body, just chemicals, just your transport telling your brain how to function instead of the other way around.  He would never stand for it, would never allow his body to overpower his mind.  People were pathetic.

But then he’d gone and met John Watson and John ‘I’m not gay’ Watson had ruined the life which he had so carefully constructed from childhood.  Look at the the foolish, ridiculous, insane choices he’d made in the name of John Watson who could never and would never love him the way Sherlock loved John.  When John and Mary had wed Sherlock’s body destroyed him, he’d never felt so betrayed by his own being as he had in the days that followed the wedding.  Suddenly, he understood exactly what all of the science had proven and it was awful; there was no release from the torture so he’d taken on a case that had been an excellent excuse to get high.  Getting high had admittedly helped. But that case had led to all sorts of added difficulties with Mary and subsequently John. John had stayed with him as he'd recovered and Sherlock had broken himself over and over as he'd convinced John that Mary loved him and he loved her; thank the God he didn't quite believe in for morphine. It would have been easy, Sherlock knew, to have convinced John not to go back to her and there wasn't a court in the world that wouldn't have given John custody of his daughter over Mary with her track record. But Sherlock had wanted John to stay because he wanted to stay not because it was the only alternative to Mary. 

After Mary's death Sherlock had waited for the day John would say he was leaving again, for the day that he didn't want to check his pulse throughout the night. He dreaded the day John started dating those terrible, insipid women. Losing him to Mary had been one thing; she'd been interesting and she'd liked him. Other women John dated were different and Sherlock didn't think his stupid, over sensitive emotions could handle it the way they once had before he’d fully realized what John meant to him. 

Which is why he had to turn them off. He had to forget what he felt for John Watson; he had to delete it. But the thought of it made his traitorous body literally ache, tears prickled his eyes and he knew it was because his brain was addicted to John Watson more than it had ever been to cocaine or ever could be to nicotine. The thought of cutting the ties that held him to John was worse than the thought of cutting off his own hand.  

Holding Evelyn probably didn't help. Could he continue his adoration of Evelyn if he removed the feelings for John from his mind palace? Would John let him always be a part of Evelyn's life if he married another woman? Sherlock groaned and Evelyn patted his cheek and babbled away at him. 

He loved this life. How much of his happiness would disappear if he couldn't remember that he loved John Watson? How much of  _ him _ would disappear if he couldn’t remember he loved John Watson?  

It doesn’t matter, his mind told him firmly.  This has to stop, it was too painful and it wasn’t worth the hurt and fear and anxiety.  With a deep breath Sherlock closed his eyes and took inventory of his mind palace; so many things were effected by the simple fact that he loved John Watson.  As he was poised to delete the way John effected the toxicity level of experiments allowed in the house he heard the downstairs door fly open and John dashing up the steps calling “Sherlock!” desperately as though he knew Sherlock was doing something terrible.

The door flew open and John was in the living room half a second later halfway through bellowing Sherlock’s name again, “Oh.” John said stopping in front of Sherlock and Evelyn.  “There you are.  That was surprisingly easy.” He held out his arms for Evelyn and reflexively Sherlock pulled her tighter to him, he didn’t want to let her go.  Had John figured it out? Were they going to move away now?

“No,” he said, his voice shaking a bit, “Please, John.  I can stop.  Don’t leave, you don’t have to take her.”

“I… What?” John started, looking completely confused.  “I was just going to give her to Mrs Hudson for a bit so we could talk.  We need to talk Sherlock.  I promise we’re not going anywhere unless you want us to.”

Sherlock let his eyes roam over John in a frenzy, he wasn’t lying.  Slowly Sherlock nodded and handed Evelyn to him.  John pressed a kiss to his daughter’s head and said, “Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be right back.  Make some tea.”

And John was gone again, Sherlock stood rooted to the spot completely unable to move anywhere.  He felt panic unlike he had ever felt before; his heart was hammering, his throat felt constricted and dry and he couldn’t produce any saliva, his hands were sweating.  

The Mycroft in his head hissed, ‘You’re a mess, Sherlock.’ and Moriarty grinned madly at him and said, ‘I didn’t have to burn the heart out of you, after all.  You did it all by yourself.’ 

Sherlock could feel himself starting to hyperventilate and forced himself to breathe more slowly. Then John was standing in front of him and when had that happened? “Okay.” John said, sounding completely calm and rational, Sherlock hated him for it.  Well, his mind reasoned with him, if the roles had been reversed Sherlock would be (and had, on multiple occasions, been) very calm about breaking someone’s heart.  In fact he'd done it repeatedly to Molly without batting an eye. And what a sad comparison that was; ugh he was the Molly Hooper of this situation. "Okay." John said again breaking Sherlock out of his thoughts. "I can see you are freaking out a bit, let's just go to the kitchen make some tea and have a cuppa."

"I don't want any damn tea, John!" Sherlock's shout surprised him more than it seemed to surprise John. John was still calm and seemed to be in crisis mode.

“Okay.” he said slowly, “What do you want?”

Sherlock scoffed and he could feel the ugly, ridiculous tears falling from his eyes, “You don’t want to know.”

John stepped closer, slowly as though he was approaching a terrified animal who was going to run away.  But Sherlock wasn’t going to run, even if he could get his legs to function properly (which he doubted he could manage) where could he even go?  John reached out with both hands and framed Sherlock’s cheeks; swiping his thumbs across his cheekbones to catch the tears there.  “I really do.” he said softly.  “Because giving you what you want is the only thing that will make me happy.”

“Fine.” Sherlock muttered stubbornly, “I want six two liters of Coca cola and a package of mentos and I want to blow them up in our flat.”

John stared at him for a moment as though he couldn’t comprehend what Sherlock had just said (leaving Sherlock to momentarily wonder if he’d spoken in a foreign language) before he burst out laughing and Sherlock’s heart fluttered against his ribs trying to escape him and make its way to John for safe keeping.  “Come on, then.” John said with a smile, “Ask me what I want.”

Sherlock groaned, “Dull, John, I know what you want.  You’re the easiest person in the world to read.”

“Prat.” John said but he was still smiling and he was still holding Sherlock’s face in his hands.  “Humor me.”

“Fine.” Sherlock said with what he hoped sounded like a put-upon sigh, “What do you want John?”

John’s face grew serious and Sherlock had a sense of foreboding that made him reevaluate the decision not to run from this flat and never look back.  But before he could even start John said, “I want you.  In every way that a human being can want another, I want you.  Well,” John amended, “Except for cannibalism or things along those lines.” he said with a quick grin before his face grew serious once more and he squared his shoulders.  “I want to wake up with you every day, I want to eat meals together, and do the shopping together.  I want to solve cases with you and chase criminals through the streets with you.  I want to go to bed with you every night.  I want to kiss you, and hold your hand, and dance with you.  I want to fight with you and make the big decisions with you.  I want to raise my daughter with you.  I want to marry you.  I want to grow old with you and I want to never leave your side for the rest of our lives.  I really want you to want the same.”

“You don’t.... I can’t.... You can’t possibly mean that.” Sherlock whispered, too afraid to believe that John was saying what he had just said.  He closed his eyes tightly before reopening them to find John standing in front of him just as he had been before.

“I can and I do.” John said firmly.  “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.  I have since the day we met and I can’t believe it took me this long to say it.”  Sherlock stared at him completely stunned; this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be real. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Sherlock whispered past the lump in his throat.  And then John did the last thing Sherlock expected him to do and leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.  Sherlock froze, his entire body going rigid as he stared at John’s face up close; he could have counted his eyelashes if he’d wanted to, or the tiny freckles on his cheeks, he could see the wrinkles on his forehead and the way his hair turned from blonde to silver at his temples.

Then John pulled back and opened his eyes looking completely stricken.  “Oh God.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  You don’t want this, I’m so stupid.”

Sherlock’s body turned back online again and before John could pull away Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and mashed his lips to his.  It was possibly the most uncoordinated, awkward kiss in the history of the world but Sherlock had never felt anything like this before.  John’s hands came up so that one cradled the back of his head tangling his fingers in his curls while the other cupped his face with a tangible tenderness, it was like he could fly, like there was nothing in the world that he couldn’t do, like he had everything he’d ever wanted.

John pulled back some indeterminable amount of time later when they were both gasping for air and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s.  “Yes.” Sherlock said softly.  “Yes to everything, everything you just said, I want that.”

Sherlock opened his eyes to find John’s already trained on his face a smile curving his lips. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes.  I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.”  And then John was kissing him again, sucking lightly at Sherlock’s bottom lip before his tongue swept inside his mouth.  Tentatively Sherlock began to mirror and copy what John was doing, groaning at the sensation of their tongues sliding together and twisting around one another.  When Sherlock pulled back to take in a few deep breaths he realized he was feeling a bit light headed.  John continued to press kisses to his cheeks and jaw and eventually planted one on the tip of his nose.

“You’re shaking.” John said, running his hands lightly down Sherlock’s arms from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers.  All of Sherlock’s nerve endings lit up at the touch and he couldn’t help the shiver that wracked his body.

“Residual adrenalin, I imagine.” Sherlock rasped at him.

John chuckled, “Might be.” he agreed softly.  John clasped Sherlock’s hands in his and pulled back so he could look him in the eyes properly.  “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.  I’m happy with whatever you want.”

“Good because I want to try everything.” Sherlock said, his mind already whirring as he thought about all of the things he’d never experienced, never wanted to experience before John.  It was all a bit daunting, to be honest.

“Hey.” John said, cupping Sherlock’s face again with one of his hands.  Sherlock found himself thinking that this was an excellent development; it was very grounding to have John’s hands touching his face.  “Let’s just take it slow and see where we end up, yeah?  I can see that brain of yours already racing away to who knows where.”

“Could we maybe just try the kissing again?”

John, of course, obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have smut.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for the kind comments and support! You are all sweet, lovely people and I am humbled by your kindness. In truth, I'm a bit nervous about this chapter; this is my first attempt at writing smut... I hope you enjoy it.

_ John _

John Watson had kissed a lot of people, he wasn’t trying to brag or anything it was merely a statement of fact.  They didn’t call him Three Continents Watson for nothing and while it’s true that John Watson was not gay; in fact, he loved women, he loved everything about the way their bodies fit with his, he loved how soft and lush their bodies were.  John Watson wasn’t straight either, he equally loved the hard planes and angles of another man’s body pressed against his.  John knew his way around human bodies; he was a doctor and had had plenty of hands on experience.  Sherlock was far from the first person John had kissed (as previously noted, John Watson had kissed a lot of people) but kissing Sherlock was the best thing he’d ever done in his entire life.  Maybe it was just because they had had the longest foreplay in known history and the sexual tension had been ready to murder them both or maybe it was because John had never loved someone the way he loved Sherlock, but regardless of the cause John thought he could happily do this to the exclusion of all else for the rest of his life.  

John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and wondered how long he’d wanted to do that because it felt like something he’d been deprived of his entire life.  He wondered fleetingly, as Sherlock let out a breathy sigh against his lips, how long Sherlock had wanted the same.  

Sherlock was a quick learner, which was completely unsurprising, but it had been clear from the moment Sherlock had pressed his lips to John’s that he had never done this before.  John had always wondered about Sherlock’s past, if he was truly a virgin as Mycroft had hinted, it would seem that he was.  John was torn between joy at the thought that he would get to share something with Sherlock that no one else ever had and sadness on Sherlock’s behalf at the thought that he’d never gotten to experience this intimacy with anyone.

Sherlock pulled his mouth away from John’s and said, “John Watson, stop thinking about anything that isn’t me this very instant.”

John pecked Sherlock’s lips again, (How could he not?  Those lips were made to be kissed) before he pressed his lips along Sherlock’s jaw and feeling the light stubble there. Sherlock instinctively tipped his head back and bared his neck allowing John to press lightly sucking kisses to Sherlock’s neck, not enough to bruise but enough for John to think about it and feel a thrill of anticipation. “I  _ was _ thinking about you.” John murmured into his skin.  “I’m only ever thinking about you.” He trailed his kisses down just a smidge lower until he could nose Sherlock’s collar out of the way to lick and nibble at his collar bones.  Sherlock moaned and John grinned, “I knew you would be fantastically sensitive.”

“John...” Sherlock panted, “I want... can we... I just need...”

John stopped his teasing and looked up at Sherlock who looked positively wrecked already and couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face and the pride that blossomed in his chest.  Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide and a warm flush spread across his cheeks and up his neck.  Sherlock always looked like marble, like he was impenetrable and unshakable but there was something so very human, so very vulnerable about the way he looked right now and it made John’s heart ache with tenderness and the desire to protect him.  He had done this, he’d made Sherlock Holmes look this way.  He ran his thumbs over Sherlock’s cheekbones, those magnificent cheekbones that he’d always  _ always  _ wanted to touch before brushing his fingers through Sherlock’s curls again.  He would never tire of this; Sherlock’s curls were soft and silky and John’s fingers tangled slightly as he stroked them.  “Anything.” He said softly, pressing another kiss to Sherlock’s red, kiss swollen lips.  “You can have anything you want.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip and John could see a deeper blush blooming across his cheeks.  Before Sherlock could say anything at all, John couldn’t help but brush his lips over Sherlock’s a few more times for good measure making Sherlock release his bottom lip from his teeth’s grasp to let out a shaky sigh.  John pulled back and said,  “Sorry.  Sorry, you are just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and I don’t know how I’ve resisted kissing you for this long.”

Sherlock’s mouth opened into a perfect  _ Oh _ the way it did when he’d made a particularly spectacular deduction and John realized it was a reaction to his hands that had taken it upon themselves to untuck Sherlock’s shirt and wander across the bare skin at the small of his back.  “John... that’s.... I.... that feels...”

John chuckled, “Good?” He asked softly.

Sherlock nodded, “So much better than good.” Sherlock dropped his head forward to rest his forehead against John’s shoulder.  John suspected it might be more out of embarrassment than for any other reason and his suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Sherlock said, “I don’t know what to do or what I want but I know I want something.”

John smiled and turned his head to press a kiss to Sherlock’s temple.  “What about this, then?  How about we go into your room and get undressed and we’ll play it by ear from there, yeah?  You can tell me to stop at any time and I will stop no questions asked.”

Sherlock exhaled shakily and nodded before taking John’s hand in his and tugging him toward the bedroom.  Sherlock started undoing his buttons with shaky fingers but John reached out and stilled them with his own.  “Let me?” He asked softly, Sherlock nodded.  John slowly pulled the buttons out of their holes one by one, pressing soft kisses down Sherlock’s sternum as he did.  When he had all the buttons undone he pushed the shirt off Sherlock’s shoulders and whispered, “You’re stunning.”  He ran his fingers lightly across Sherlock’s shoulders and pressed his palms to his chest. 

Sherlock blushed faintly and reached for the hem of John’s jumper and started to pull it off over his head.  John hissed when it dragged over the bullet wound and Sherlock let go immediately, saying “Sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I forgot.” In the most panicked tone John had ever heard leave his mouth.

He leaned forward again and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s before saying, “It’s fine, I forgot about it, too.”  He pulled his jumper and vest over his head wincing at the slight stretch.  It was forgotten a moment later though when Sherlock’s hands reached out cautiously to touch John’s skin.  John let him explore for a moment, Sherlock ran his fingers lightly down John’s arms and across his collar bones, down his chest and belly before coming back up again to press lightly at John’s scar.  

“Does it hurt?” Sherlock asked and looked up at him with so much love and devotion in his eyes that John thought his heart was going to shatter.

He couldn’t find his voice but shook his head and leaned in to press his lips to Sherlock’s once more.  John reached for the buttons on Sherlock’s trousers and pulled back to ask, “Is this alright?”  Sherlock nodded but his eyes were the size of saucers and he looked a bit terrified; he swallowed and John watched his adam’s apple bob.  John stilled his hands, “Are you sure?  We don’t have to do this.  We could just lay down and have a cuddle and snog a bit more if you’d like.”

Sherlock shook his head, “No.  I want this, I do.”

John nodded and kissed him a little more as he unbuckled Sherlock’s belt and undid the button on his trousers.  Sherlock gasped against John’s mouth as John pulled the zipper down, his fingers unintentionally sliding along Sherlock’s pants covered erection.  John let the trousers fall to the floor and coaxed Sherlock to step out of them before making quick work of his own and leaving them in a pile next to Sherlock’s.  John leaned in to kiss Sherlock letting his body rub against Sherlock’s so their flesh could be pressed against one another.  He trapped Sherlock’s lower lip between his own nipping at it lightly before soothing it with his tongue. 

Sherlock broke away panting, looking completely desperate, “John, please.” He begged.  “Please, touch me.”

John nodded, he didn’t need to be told twice, before laying Sherlock out on his bed and crawling between his legs.  He pushed their hips together lightly to relieve some of the unbearable ache of their erections as he kissed Sherlock.  Sherlock’s body arched up into John, his entire being tight as a bow and his head flew back exposing his neck.  John began to lick and suck his way down that long, pale expanse of flesh and Sherlock moaned, unconsciously rocking his hips up into John in a bid for friction.  John continued his travels, kissing and licking along Sherlock’s body in any spot he could reach until he found one of his rosy, perfect nipples pebbled and clearly begging to be sucked and touched.  John laved it lightly with the tip of his tongue and Sherlock gasped, “Fuck, John.”  John grinned, he loved the sound of Sherlock falling to pieces, loved the way curse words sounded in that rich baritone.  John sucked his nipple into his mouth, flicking at the nub with the tip of his tongue.  Sherlock wailed his hips bucking hard up against John, “Yes.” he gasped.  “John. Please.”

John pulled off of Sherlock’s nipple making him whine, but he quickly kissed his way down Sherlock’s body until he reached the hair trailing into Sherlock’s pants.  John followed the trail down until he reached the bulge in Sherlock’s pants.  He mouthed wetly at the outline of Sherlock’s cock, sucking at it through the fabric.  Sherlock’s hips arched off the bed and for a moment John was worried he might have come in his pants.  Pressing a kiss to the tip through the fabric John looked up, continuing to press soft kisses to Sherlock’s skin just above his pants he asked, “Yes?” with his fingers poised at the top of Sherlock’s black silky pants that hugged him like a second skin.

“YES!” Sherlock shouted.  “For fuck’s sake, John.  I think I’m going to have a heart attack or an aneurysm if you don’t hurry up.”

John chuckled but slipped his fingers into the elastic at the top of Sherlock’s pants; he rubbed the smooth skin there with the backs of his knuckles as he started to pull them down.  “Lift.” he said softly as he pulled them over Sherlock’s hips.  Sherlock obliged him and soon John had gotten them down far enough that Sherlock’s cock bounced up and slapped his stomach.  He had a lovely cock, John thought as he pulled Sherlock’s pants down miles of pale, toned legs.  Sherlock was circumcised and was long and thin much like the man himself; right now it was an angry red color but John imagined that it would be a lovely shade of pink when Sherlock wasn’t quite so aroused.  John leaned forward and licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock and Sherlock keened.

“Fuck.” Sherlock gasped.  “Fuck, John.  Please, oh please.”

John sucked the head of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth running his tongue around the head before flicking lightly at his frenulum.  It had been awhile since John had given a blow job but Sherlock hadn’t ever had one so he doubted it would make too much of a difference; especially with how keyed up Sherlock already was.  Taking a deep breath he took in as much of Sherlock’s cock as he could, until it hit the back of his throat.  John focused on not gagging and swallowed around the head.  Sherlock was babbling now, so fast and so loud that John wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying.  He heard the occasional fuck and he heard his name but that was all he could make out around the moans.  John pulled off, sucking his way back up to the head before plunging down again.  He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard and heard Sherlock whine above him.  “John!” He gasped out.  “Yes.  Please don’t stop.  Don’t stop.  I’m going to...” And with that Sherlock came, spilling what felt like an exceptional quantity of come into John’s mouth.  John tried to swallow but there was a bit too much and he felt some dribble from his lips and onto Sherlock’s thigh and the bed.  

When he seemed to be getting over sensitive John pulled off and moved to the top of the bed and laid on his side, head propped up on his hand as he watched Sherlock’s eyelids flutter and his breathing drop back to a normal pace.  He stroked the sweaty hair curls off Sherlock’s forehead and pressed kisses to the corners of his eyes where a few tears had leaked out. 

Sherlock turned his head to look at John, “That was amazing.” 

John kissed him sweetly, “I’m glad.”

Sherlock moved to roll toward him and in doing so felt the hard length of John’s cock pressing into his hip.  Sherlock looked up at him and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” John replied.  Of course he wanted Sherlock to touch him, at the moment there wasn’t anything he wanted more than that but he never wanted him to feel pressured, like it was something he had to do.  “You aren’t obligated.”

Sherlock shoved John’s shoulder until he was lying on his back and he got onto his hands and knees, hovering over John with far too much grace for someone who had just had an orgasm.  “I want to.” He growled low in his throat and John felt that voice travel into his very bones.  He shuddered slightly.  Sherlock wrinkled his nose at him and John distractedly thought he looked completely adorable.  “Are you turned on by my voice?” He asked incredulously.

John shrugged, and said completely unabashedly, “You’ve got a very sexy voice.” 

“Hmmm,” Sherlock said, looking as though he’d just uncovered a great puzzle that required all of his focus.  This was possibly the best feeling in the world, feeling like he was the center of this incredible human’s thoughts.  Sherlock interrupted John’s musings, “Dirty talk will probably require some research and practice, I’m afraid I’ll be dreadful at it.”

John laughed, “I probably couldn’t handle dirty talk anyway at this point.” He said glancing down at the tent in his pants.  

Sherlock followed his gaze and smirked, which was sexy as hell, his hormone addled brain added.  “Oh, John.  I do so look forward to taking you apart piece by piece.”

John groaned, that voice.  Uggh. Sherlock could probably read the phonebook and John would get a hard on at this point.  Sherlock looked up at him with a cheeky grin and leaned over to talk softly into John’s ear, his voice reverberating and setting every nerve ending in John’s body alight with anticipation.  “Can I touch you?” Sherlock asked.  His hand skimmed down John’s body and his forefinger rubbed circles into the skin just under the elastic band of John’s red briefs.  “Can I take off your pants and watch your cock as I stroke it?”  John groaned and nodded his head, lifting his hips and helping Sherlock shove them off his body.  “I’m not quite sure how you’ve managed to hide this from me, John.” Sherlock said as he lightly ran his forefinger up the length of his now exposed cock.  “This is rather impressive; in general but particularly for a man of your stature.  I should have guessed from the way you walk and the way you sit but I tried not to think about it.” Sherlock said as he made a loose ring with his thumb and forefinger and slowly started to move it up and down John’s cock.  “If I thought about it I never would have been able to stop from wanking myself completely stupid.”

John groaned the image of Sherlock wanking to thoughts of him adding fuel to the fire burning low in his belly and tried in vain to get more friction by thrusting his hips into Sherlock’s fingers but Sherlock refused to be rushed.  Instead he sucked John’s earlobe into his mouth and bit down on the fleshy part enough to sting but not enough to actually hurt.  John’s hips spasmed and he let out a noise that didn’t even sound human.  “Sherlock.” He gasped.

He felt Sherlock smirk against his neck as he changed his grip so he was fisting John’s cock, “Like this?” John nodded, the only thing John could have wished for was a touch lubrication, it was a bit too dry.  Sherlock released his grip on John’s cock and John groaned.  “Hush.” Sherlock said, and John heard the pump of lotion on the nightstand.

“You know, sometimes I actually believe you can read my mind.” John said. 

Sherlock grinned at him and brought his hand back to John’s cock.  John hissed as the cool lotion touched his burning skin.  “Apologies.” Sherlock said, blinking owlishly at him for a moment.  “I should have thought that through better.”

John was saved from having to respond when Sherlock tightened his grip and began stroking again.  “Better?” He asked lowering his mouth so it was next to John’s ear again and breathing hotly in it.  John shuddered, he’d never realized his ears were such an erogenous zone before.  

Sherlock’s hand slipped lower to tug lightly at John’s balls that were tucked up tight to his body.  Sherlock ran his fingers over them and rolled them in his palm and John could hear his breathing increase as if this were turning him on again and that thought made John even harder.  Sherlock let his hand slip back further and pressed his fingers to John’s perineum, rubbing languid circles.  John’s back arched, “Fuck Sherlock.” He gasped out.  

Sherlock brought his hand back to John’s cock and started pumping it with a bit more fervor, applying more pressure to the head and adding a slight twist every third stroke or so.  “Are you going to come for me, John?”

John gasped and couldn’t stop his hips from jerking and fucking up into Sherlock’s fist. “That’s it.” Sherlock coaxed, “You’re incredible.  I love you.” And that was it, that was all it took to push John over the edge; three tiny words, three words he never thought he’d hear from Sherlock Holmes.

John pulled Sherlock into his arms, pulling him tightly against his chest ignoring the mess he’d made all over his and Sherlock’s stomachs.  John kissed Sherlock breathlessly and pulled back a moment later to say, “I love you, too.” 

Sherlock smiled at him, pressed another kiss to John’s lips and then yawned.  “Can we sleep now?  Just for a little while?”

John nodded and reached for a tissue to wipe the come off of himself and Sherlock.  When he’d binned the tissue he turned on his side, he spooned around Sherlock’s back pulling him in close to his chest.  John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair until he heard Sherlock snoring softly; he pressed a kiss to his shoulder and whispered, “I love you.” Before following Sherlock off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

_ Sherlock _

Sherlock stretched, waking up slowly, still feeling deliciously happy; endorphins must still be flooding his brain and lighting up the pleasure centers.  He pressed back against John who was still molded around his back.  Carefully so he didn't wake John, Sherlock rolled so he was facing him.  John snuffled and huffed a little in his sleep and Sherlock watched as his brow furrowed a bit at the loss of contact.  John was surprisingly tactile while he slept, he was always reaching out to Sherlock in his sleep and Sherlock had awoken many times in the past two months to find John had lain across him in his sleep; he'd always carefully disentangled himself so John wouldn't feel awkward upon waking.  Now he took his time studying John's face in sleep.  He traced his fingertips feather light across John’s cheek, then lightly over his eyebrow, lingering for a moment on the crow’s feet at the corner of his eye.  He ran his fingers along the shell of John's ear smiling at the memory of John's discovery of how sensitive his ears were. Sherlock was ridiculously pleased that he had discovered something about John that John hadn't known about himself.  He rubbed the lobe between his fingers. 

John startled him out of his reverie saying, "Stop gloating, you git." His smile belied his words but Sherlock removed his hand regardless, watching John carefully. Trying to understand the parameters of this relationship, if that was indeed what they should call this. 

John opened his eyes and the smile slipped slightly, "What's wrong?" 

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know how to do this." He confessed, his voice sounding soft and afraid even to his own ears. “I don’t know which are acceptable ways to touch and be with you and which aren’t.”

John gave him a soft smile and stroked his fingers through his hair, causing Sherlock to close his eyes as his toes curled against the mattress.  “There aren’t set rules.” John said softly.  “In every new relationship you sort of learn as you go about what the other person does and doesn’t like.” He intertwined his fingers through Sherlock’s and brought them to his lips to press soft kisses along the knuckles, making Sherlock feel boneless.  “We’ll explore,” John licked his lips, “We’ll  _ experiment _ ,” John said with a twinkle in his eye, “And we’ll learn as we go.  I promise to always be honest about the things I like and the things I don’t if you will.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip but nodded in agreement, “Can I just touch you and look at you now?” He watched John blush a bit but he nodded regardless.  Sherlock pushed him onto his back so he could begin a thorough inspection.  He carefully brushed John’s hair back off his forehead, it was surprisingly soft and silky and Sherlock paused to rub the strands between his fingers for a moment.  Then he moved to John’s face running his fingers over his forehead and cheeks before sliding a long finger down John’s nose.  John sighed in contentment as Sherlock pressed light kisses to his eyelids and nose and cheeks; pressing them to every inch of his face except his lips.  “You have admirable self control, John.” Sherlock said. 

John grinned but his eyes remained closed, “Well, I was in the military.”

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Sherlock whispered softly more looking for permission than trying to inform John of his intentions, John tipped his head back obligingly and waited for Sherlock’s lips to descend.  He straddled John’s thighs and leaned down and pressed his lips to John’s.  He still wasn’t exactly sure how to do this but John seemed quite content to let Sherlock set the pace so he tipped his head to the side, slotting their mouths together and tentatively let his tongue trail along John’s bottom lip.  John opened his mouth in invitation letting Sherlock’s tongue inside to explore.  Sherlock ran his tongue over John’s teeth and sucked lightly on his tongue before stroking at John’s hard palate with his tongue.  John groaned into Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock felt his body melt against John’s.  John’s hands came up to wrap around Sherlock’s back and while one hand cradled the back of his head the other ran up and down Sherlock’s spine making him shudder at the touch.  The shiver caused his hips to involuntarily jerk into John’s and both of them let out soft moans as the beginnings of their erections rubbed together.

John’s head snapped back as Sherlock reached down to clasp both of their cocks together in his hand.  “Fuck, Sherlock.  You really are a fast learner.” He said grinding up into Sherlock’s grip and causing exquisite friction on Sherlock’s own cock.

“This was not the leisurely exploration I had planned.” Sherlock said with a gasp.  

John stilled immediately and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s nose.  “Sorry.” He said before licking his lower lip.  “I had thought that was your intention, please continue.”

Sherlock sat up so his bum was resting on John’s thighs and looked down at him blankly for a moment, “Really?”

“Yes.” John chuckled.  “I’m not a teenager anymore, I can keep my libido under control.” He glanced at the clock and grinned, “Besides I had a pretty fantastic orgasm not even half an hour ago.” He paused, frowning slightly, “Frankly, I’m surprised I can get it up again that quickly.”

Sherlock laughed at him and leaned down and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to John’s lips.  John’s smiled up at him contentedly as Sherlock started examining the scar on his shoulder, measuring the diameter and feeling the slightly marred skin.  Sherlock could learn all sorts of things about how John had been shot just by looking at his scar.  He pressed at it gently and glanced up at John to see if it was hurting him.

“It’s fine.” John assured him.  “Can I ask you something?”

Sherlock tensed, thinking John was probably going to ask about the scars on his back which was a conversation Sherlock really, really didn’t want to have right now.  He just wanted to enjoy this bubble of warmth and happiness for a little bit longer before going back to reality.  Of course, if this relationship were going to progress he absolutely had to come clean and tell John everything. 

John stroked his thigh soothingly, clearly noticing Sherlock’s distress, “It’s nothing bad.” He assured.  “I just wanted to know how long?”

Sherlock stared at him; how long what?  Did John wanted to know how long he planned to take examining him, or how long Sherlock would want to be with him?  “How long what?” He prompted.

John bit his lip and looked down, “How long you’ve loved me.” He said softly.  John glanced up again and raised his chin in defiance of his embarrassment.  “I’ve just always known it was you, since the day we met.  I was completely blown away by that amazing brain of yours,” he said running his fingers along Sherlock’s temple.  “I loved you from day one, there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done or still wouldn’t do to protect you.” Sherlock felt tears well up in his eyes. John sat up and Sherlock slipped so he was sitting between John’s legs with his wrapped around John’s back.  It was a bit awkward, Sherlock was a bit too tall and his limbs were a bit too gangly but John didn’t seem to mind as he pulled him close, fingers soothing up and down his spine.  Sherlock let his head drop to John’s shoulder and turned it so he could breathe in John’s scent from the crook of his neck.  John continued speaking,  

“Then you told me you were married to your work and I thought this would never be possible.  For a while I tried dating but they never could and never would come first; and I could never love them the way they deserved to be loved because my heart wasn’t in it.  Did you know that’s why I stopped dating for a while, back in the old days before you fell?”  Sherlock shook his head against John’s shoulder and John chuckled, “That surprises me, you who sees everything couldn’t see what was in front of you every single day of your life, couldn’t see how ridiculously devoted I was to you.” Sherlock felt him press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“And then you died and I thought I would never be whole again.  The world was a terrible, terrible place without you in it and I had no purpose, nothing to devote myself to, sometimes when I look back I’m still not sure how I made it out of those months without killing myself.  I thought about it all the time.” John’s voice shook slightly and Sherlock felt the tears that had welled up in his eyes spill into John’s skin at the thought of John’s suffering.  “Then I met Mary and she didn’t ask me to stop loving you, she celebrated you with me.  She loved to listen to stories about you and she always came to visit your grave with me.  Mary was the first person I ever told that I loved you, that I would always love you and she never discouraged that.

“I was so furious with you for coming back.” John said.  “I thought you’d come back and take everything away again; I had just found some semblance of happiness and I was terrified of you mattering again because it was dangerous to love you, I always ended up hurt.  But you didn’t do that at all.  You were nothing but helpful and good to Mary, better than she deserved sometimes toward the end.  I think you cared more about the logistics and the planning of the wedding than I did.  It was then I started to wonder if maybe you’d changed in your time away, if maybe you’d come to care about my happiness and well being.  Then you stood up at my wedding and gave a speech and I realized that you hadn’t changed at all; you’d always cared about my happiness, you’d always known my worth.”

John paused, turned his head and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s neck.  Sherlock held his breath waiting for John to continue, he absently ran his hands up and down John’s back, lingering on the vertebrae of his spine.  “I just didn’t know you felt this for me, I couldn’t have imagined that you would have ever wanted this with me.”  He cleared his throat and asked in an attempt at a casual tone, “So, I was just wondering how long we could have been living this way since I’ve felt like this from the beginning.”

“The pool.” Sherlock whispered.  “I’ve known I felt this way since the pool, I wasn’t sure before that.”

John jerked back to look Sherlock in the face, “The pool!? Are you serious?  You mean we could have spent all that time like this?” He groaned and Sherlock watched with mild amusement as John rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  “Irene Adler would have been so much less of a problem.”

Sherlock spluttered a laugh, “That’s what you’re thinking about?  Irene Adler?”

“I thought you were in love with her!  Or at least lusting after her.  The tramp.”

Sherlock shook his head and bit back another laugh, “No, women’s bits don’t really interest me all that much.  I just had to figure out the passcode to her phone, and I liked her, she was clever.  We were friends, sort of.” Sherlock said with a shrug.  “Besides, how was I to know you were interested, you were quite adamant that you weren’t gay and you were dating some wretched woman at the time as I recall.”

“We broke up Christmas eve so I could stay home with you.  And I’m not gay, I do really like women; I just happen to like men too.” He grinned roguishly at Sherlock, “I’m an equal opportunity lover.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Well imagine how much worse my death would have been if we were lovers.”

“You would have told me, then.  Right?” John asked sounding aghast and searching Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock shook his head slowly, “I don’t think so.  It was to save your life, John.  You had to think I was dead and you had to do it convincingly and you’re just not that good an actor.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you listen to me if you ever pull some shite like that again, I’ll kill you myself.  But if you’re going to you are taking me with you.  I don’t care if we both have to fake die or if I have to wait two days and fake my suicide, I am not living without you again.  Do I make myself clear?” 

Sherlock nodded and pressed a kiss to John’s lips.  “Can we stop talking about the past now?” He asked wanting to get back to exploring.

John nodded at him and with a grin Sherlock gave him a playful shove back on the bed.  John stretched out and waited patiently as Sherlock started to explore once more.  He ran his fingers down John’s neck and over his collarbones feeling the sturdy ridges under his fingers.  Then he trailed his fingers down John’s chest pausing briefly at his nipples to note they were nowhere near as sensitive as Sherlock’s own, he counted his ribs and traced the trail of hair at the bottom of John’s abdomen to his neatly trimmed pubic hair.  Sherlock licked his lips as he stared down at John’s semi-erect penis, the chat must have calmed him down some.  Sherlock ran his forefinger up to the head, measuring the length and diameter before pulling John’s foreskin down his shaft to reveal the plumy head.   A small bit of precum leaked out as John exhaled shakily; Sherlock swiped his thumb across the tip and brought it to his mouth to taste the precum.  John groaned, “Fuck, you’re sexy.”

Sherlock looked up, the pad of his thumb still between his lips, to see John staring at him from where he lay on the bed, his pupils blown and a flush spreading down his chest already glistening with a light sheen of sweat.  Sherlock popped his thumb out of his mouth and bent his mouth toward John’s cock.  Sherlock smirked at John as he stuck his tongue out and swiped at the very tip.  “How many times have you fantasized about this, John?” Sherlock wasn’t very comfortable with dirty talk but John had seemed to enjoy the sound of his voice earlier, so he endeavored to talk as much as possible.  “How often have you thought about me wrapping my lips around your glans and licking and sucking at you?  I’ve been told I have the perfect mouth for sucking cock, which at the time I found rather unsavory but none the less, would you like to find out?” Sherlock slowly pumped his fist up John’s cock and slid back down again, he knew it was too dry but John didn’t seem to mind if the panting was anything to go by.

John groaned and let his head fall back against the pillows, Sherlock licked a long stripe from the root to the head.  “Gah.  Please.” John said from above him, “Anything you want to do, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked and lowered his head so his mouth could lick at John’s balls which had pulled up close to his body.  He pulled one of them into his mouth, sucking lightly and running his tongue along the light fuzz he found there.  He repeated the process with the other groaning when John’s hips bucked slightly.  John swore as Sherlock slowly drew off him and blew lightly over the damp skin watching John shudder.  He pressed his knuckles lightly to John’s perineum and rubbed circles against it.  Then he took the head of John’s cock between his lips and started tonguing at the underside of his shaft.  John groaned above him, “I thought you hadn’t done any of this before.”

Sherlock pulled off slowly with an obscene pop at the end and said, “I’ve done  _ very  _ thorough research into the subject even if I have no practical knowledge.”  Sherlock flicked his tongue against John’s slit before taking the head back into his mouth and sucking.  He thought back to the oral sex John had performed and slowly slid down his penis until it hit the back of his throat, making Sherlock gag slightly.  

“Careful.” John said, concern coloring his voice.  

If Sherlock hadn’t had his mouth full, he would have undoubtedly had a snarky, clever rebuttal but as it was he just settled for sinking further on John’s erection while relaxing his throat muscles. He sucked again, feeling saliva leak from the corners of his mouth down the remainder of John’s shaft and into his public hair.  Sherlock twisted the hand rubbing John’s perineum so he could cup his balls while he continued rubbing circles.  John was gasping and moaning and Sherlock could feel the twitches in John’s thighs as he fought the urge to thrust.

John groaned as Sherlock pushed just a little harder at his perineum, “Sherlock, please.  Come back up here, come kiss me.”  Sherlock felt a bit cheated at not being able to finish the oral intercourse he’d begun, but John looked down at him and groaned, “I promise you can suck me off any time you see fit but I really want to kiss you right now and I really want to come with you.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across his face as his slid up John’s body, striving for as much physical contact as he could muster.  “ _ Any  _ time I see fit?” He asked.

John groaned, “You’re going to be quite a handful aren’t you?”

Sherlock kissed him briefly, “You said you loved me just the way I am.”

John stroked his curls back and Sherlock felt like he was about to purr, “God help me, I do.” John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s once more while he rearranged their limbs so Sherlock was lying between John’s thighs their cocks brushing together.  For a few minutes the only sounds that filled the room were the sounds of panting, sloppy kisses, and bodies sliding together.  John groaned and pulled his lips away, “Would you wrap your hand around both of us again?” He asked, when Sherlock did John reached down and entwined his fingers with Sherlock’s and began to stroke the two of them in tandem.  

Sherlock gasped against his lips and couldn’t stop his hips from bucking; John groaned and his hand slid down Sherlock’s back to knead the flesh of his buttocks.  This caused Sherlock to buck harder, apparently he was rather sensitive everywhere.

“Yes,” John groaned, “That’s it, baby.  So good, so perfect.” John kissed him again, “I’m so close, are you close?  Are you going to come for me, Sherlock?” He groaned.  “I loved watching you come earlier, seeing you so blissed out.  You’re so gorgeous, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.  I could watch you come for the rest of my life and never be bored.”

Sherlock gasped and his hips shuddered hard against John.  John pressed a kiss to his cheek and then whispered in his ear, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock came with a strangled cry and it seemed feeling Sherlock’s semen pulse on his cock was all John needed to follow suit.

Sherlock flopped down on John feeling completely boneless and blissful.  “I love you, too.” He answered.  Sherlock shivered as the sweat cooled on his skin and realized he was probably squashing John under his dead weight but as he went to move John wrapped his arms more tightly around him, "Just another minute?" He whispered. Sherlock settled back again and pressed soft kisses to John's chest. "So you're a cuddler, then?" John asked with a trace of amusement in his voice. "Not that I mind, I love a good cuddle. I'm just surprised is all."

Sherlock smiled into his neck, "I used to love to be cuddled when I was a child." he confessed. John rubbed Sherlock's scalp with his fingertips and gave a pleased hum at Sherlock's sharing. "Also having my hair stroked was the only thing that would put me to sleep when I was little until Mycroft told me that only babies needed someone to sit with them while they fell asleep. You seem to have already ascertained my weakness."

He could hear the smile in John's voice when he said, "Hardly a difficult deduction."

Sherlock felt John arch underneath him clearly stretching out his back.  Sherlock knew, despite what sentiment told John, that this position couldn’t be the most comfortable for him.  He shifted so he was laying half on and half off of John.  John groaned as the sticky mess between them shifted as well,  “Urrg.  Shower.  We need to shower.”

Sherlock wasn’t mentally prepared to leave the bed but moved to the side none the less, “You can go first; the brunt of the mess is on you.”

John smiled at him, the kind of smile that made Sherlock’s stomach swoop and Sherlock was fairly certain he would have gotten an erection from that smile if he hadn’t just orgasmed so spectacularly for the second time in an hour and a half just moments ago.  John quirked an eyebrow at him and said, “I was thinking you might want to join me?”

Sherlock felt a bit breathless from the thought, “That’s a brilliant idea.  To think everyone believes I’m the genius in this relationship.”

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips and Sherlock fancied he could taste the chuckle before John dragged him out of the room and to the shower.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter of fluff before we have a bit more angst; these chapters have been giving me fits. I hope they've turned out alright. :) Enjoy.
> 
> P.S. in case it isn't obvious, the texts are the bolded words.

_ John _

John’s brain didn’t have enough synonyms for the word amazing.  This was a fact that he had known for quite some time as he had lived with Sherlock Holmes for quite some time.  John had spent a few months back in the old days using a thesaurus to pick out synonyms, more to amuse himself than Sherlock but Sherlock seemed to delight in it as well, always grinning at John when he chose a synonym he’d not used before as though he knew exactly what John had done to pick a new word.  As John ran through the list of words he knew, certainly not as large as the collection Sherlock would have at his disposal but a fair size, he knew that he couldn’t find a word that would express the complete and all consuming joy he had in this moment.  Nothing could describe the utter ecstasy he was experiencing as though he was finally exactly where he was meant to be. 

He climbed into the shower feeling Sherlock moving in behind him, still not too close as though he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to be.  John found his insecurity far more endearing than he ought to but he knew with Sherlock it wouldn’t last long so he was determined to enjoy every moment of getting to teach him something new.  When he’d gotten the temperature at a happy medium between his preferred warm water and Sherlock’s scalding hot, he turned around to look at Sherlock.  Sherlock was standing at the back of the tub with his arms wrapped around his abdomen looking rather unsure of himself, John’s heart ached with love and tenderness for this man.  “I love you.” He blurted out completely unable to stop the words even if he’d wanted to.  He took Sherlock’s long fingers in his and pulled him over so he stood under the spray with him.  John entwined their fingers together and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s knuckles. 

Grabbing Sherlock’s expensive shampoo from the shelf behind Sherlock, John motioned for him to turn around.  WHen Sherlock obliged, John pulled him back so Sherlock's back was pressed to John's chest.  He formed sudds in his hands and worked them into Sherlock’s curls, massaging his scalp with his fingertips.  When he was satisfied, he tipped Sherlock’s head back so it rested on his shoulder and rinsed his hair, keeping his hand up to shield Sherlock’s eyes.  He repeated the process with his conditioner, both men stood in silence simply enjoying the novelty being together like this.  Once he finished he poured a dollop of Sherlock’s body wash onto his hands and since Sherlock was still leaning back against his chest, John started with his chest and arms, feeling the sinewy muscles under his skin; Sherlock was so thin but when you could really look at and really feel his body you could see the raw power that lay in his form.  John pressed a kiss to his neck and continued to his stomach and his groin, being careful to keep his touch gentle and without intent for anything more.  He felt Sherlock’s cock twitch in interest regardless and couldn’t stop his grin.  “You’re going to be insatiable aren’t you?”

“Problem?” Sherlock asked the corner of his mouth perked up into a grin as he turned around so he could face John as John rubbed soap into his back.

“Well I’m not as young as I used to be.” John said, digging his fingers into the tense muscles in Sherlock’s shoulders and rubbing out the knots and kinks.

Sherlock groaned, “That is possibly the most amazing thing you have ever done.”

John snorted, “After the last hour and a half, I think I’m insulted.” 

Sherlock opened an eye to look at him, “You know what I mean.”

“Turn around then, so I can do it properly.” Sherlock looked unsure for a moment and it broke John’s heart to think that he truly believed John would care one bit about the scars there.  “I love you.” John said softly, “You are the most beautiful creature to walk this earth and no scars will ever make me feel differently.”

Sherlock looked down at his feet and mumbled, “You can be strangely perceptive sometimes.”

“Highly empathetic.” John responded as Sherlock turned around and leaned against the wall, pillowing his head on his arms.  John began to massage his muscles, pushing in and smoothing them out.  “I took a couple of semesters of massage therapy while I was at school.  Did you know that?”

“I could have hnnnng.” He groaned again.  “Damn, John." he paused to let out a contented sigh, "I could have deduced it from this.”

John grinned, “Have I told you I thoroughly enjoy the way swear words sound in you mouth?” 

“Are there words you don’t enjoy coming out of my mouth?” Sherlock asked cheekily.

“Prat.” John said giving Sherlock’s arse a playful slap before returning to the massage.  They were quiet as John worked to relax all of Sherlock’s tense muscles.  The man had clearly been starved for physical affection for far too long, every touch John gave him seemed to be soaked right through Sherlock’s skin and cherished.  John never wanted him to feel unloved again, he never wanted Sherlock to go a day without being touched and kissed and held, without being told he was adored.  “I love you.” John said again, softly and very deliberately as his hands stilled on Sherlock’s back.  “With all that I am, I love you.  I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.  I don’t ever want you to doubt how completely and totally devoted I am to you.  All of those things I told you earlier that I wanted?  I still want them, I will always want them.” John paused and felt a nervous giggle burst out of his chest, “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

“And you invaded Afghanistan.” Sherlock quipped as he turned back to face John with a smile, his eyes soft and warm; John had never seen him look this open, he wanted him to always look at him like that.

“Marry me?” He asked before he could lose his nerve.

Sherlock’s eyes widened comically and he look completely stunned; he stared at John and John knew his brain was running a thousand miles an hour.  John brushed Sherlock’s wet curls back off his forehead and pressed a kiss to his forehead, to his nose, then his chin, before coming up and pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.  “It doesn’t have to be now.  I know I told you we could go as slowly as you wanted and I’ve done nothing of the sort."  John swallowed and hoped his sincerity was apparent, "I just want you to know that I want forever, that I am completely and totally serious about being with you for the rest of our lives if you will have me that long.”

Sherlock’s lips parted as though he were about to speak but then he closed his mouth again, apparently he couldn’t find words.  He tilted his head and his eyebrows drew together slightly a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows; he opened his mouth and then he closed it again pursing his lips.  He blinked once and then blinked a few times in rapid succession before he tried one more time, “You are always full of surprises, John Watson.”  John chuckled, "Are you sure this is what you want?" Sherlock asked biting his lip clearly trying not to feel too hopeful. 

John kissed him again, he couldn't have helped it even if he'd wanted to, "It's everything I want." John said. 

Sherlock pulled his head back and rested it against the shower wall, "I'm a difficult man to live with, I can’t change who I am.” He said softly.  “I'll forget important things, I'm emotionally stunted, I don't know the first thing about being in a relationship, I don’t know much about the physical aspects of sex and it honestly never even appealed to me before you."

"Sex is the least important thing here, we could never have sex again and I will love you completely and totally regardless.  I don’t want anyone else.”  He grinned ruefully, “I already know what living with you is like there won’t be any surprises there.  And I'm not all rainbows and sunshine either.  I'll yell when I'm frustrated, I won't always understand what you are doing or why, and I can be too emotional at times, when I’m upset I will say things that aren’t fair and will probably hurt you.  But I can also promise one thing, I will always love you, no matter what.  And all I need is for you to promise the same for me." 

Sherlock nodded solemnly and said, "I promise."

John grinned, "So you'll marry me, then?"

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up, “I suppose I will.”

John pressed kisses to Sherlock’s mouth, “You incredible, perfect, beautiful man.” He said between kisses.  “I love you.”

“And I love you.” 

Sherlock’s stomach growled and Sherlock looked down at his stomach much in the way John always imagined King Arthur had looked at Lancelot, as though this were the absolute worst betrayal imaginable.  “My transport is out of control and it is entirely your fault.” Sherlock whinged.

“We’ll order some takeaway; we can call that Chinese place that doesn’t deliver but will for you.” John said with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face, “If you insist.”

John made Sherlock wait in the shower as he went to grab his phone from the living room, he called for takeaway and returned to the bathroom as quickly as he could manage.  He took a minute to admire Sherlock standing in the shower, the way water sluiced down the hard planes and lines of his body in rivulets, the clean lines and planes, the miles of pale, beautiful flesh.  John exhaled shakily thinking that Sherlock looked more like a marble statue from Ancient Greece than a living, breathing man.  He climbed back in next to Sherlock and ran his hands along Sherlock’s chest and neck before cupping his face in his palms, whispering, “You are so beautiful.” He felt the shiver go down Sherlock’s arms where he’d wrapped them around John’s waist and smiled.  “Right.” John said, sounding business like, “The food is ordered and should be here in 15 minutes which gives us just enough time for you to give my hair a quick scrub.”

Sherlock grinned like the Cheshire cat and motioned for John to turn around and stand with his back to him.  John obliged and he heard the tell tale snick of a shampoo bottle opening.  He relaxed as he waited for Sherlock to put the shampoo in his hair, when he did John was surprised, it smelled and felt different than his normally did.  “It’s mine.” Sherlock answered his unspoken question.  “Yours is a dreadful quality, mine isn’t necessarily the best for your particular hair type but it is most assuredly better than yours.”

John didn’t want to admit it but he thought Sherlock might be right as the shampoo started to make his scalp tingle.  He hummed noncommittally and let Sherlock work; he tipped his head back and Sherlock carefully rinsed his hair out the way John had, covering his eyes with his hand.  

When he was done with his hair Sherlock grabbed the body wash and started rubbing it on John’s body.  John could tell this was being used more as an excuse to explore him than it was to actually make him clean but he didn’t mind; he stood still as Sherlock catalogued, no doubt filing everything away into some obscure place in his mind palace.  Everything was going fine, better than fine really, until Sherlock found his arse; and his arse seemed to fascinate Sherlock to no end.  Don’t get him wrong, John was absolutely an arse man.  He loved that bit of muscled, pliant flesh but the trouble was that John was a bit ticklish; only in the crease between his arse and thighs (this achilles heel had never been a problem during sex, ticklishness just sort of turned into heightened arousal for him.) but that particular area when outside of the context of sex made John lose it.  He had had lovers in the past who found it highly amusing and proceeded to torment him about this and he just knew that Sherlock would be one of them.  So he made himself breathe slowly and fought the bubble of laughter that was in his chest. 

Something he had done must have tipped off Sherlock because Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to his face, bright and attentive.  “I thought perhaps you were aroused.” He said looking John’s body over in the way that always made John feel completely flayed open.  “But based on the evidence, I’d have to say ticklish.” He grinned at him and ran his fingers featherlight in that one spot and John lost the battle with giggling and consequently began squirming.

“Stop!” He said in between giggles, trying to get his body to behave itself as it jerked and twisted to get away from Sherlock’s hands.   But Sherlock would not be deterred, he pinned John to the wall with his body and continued his assault.  It should be noted that tickling in a shower is never a good idea, John knew this from past experience, and yet he somehow hadn’t managed to convey this to Sherlock.  On one particularly hard twist and giggle John slipped and with him Sherlock started to tumble; in a flail of arms and legs, both of them trying to catch themselves and one another they crashed to the floor of the tub.  John groaned from his position under Sherlock, he smacked his shoulder on the side of the tub and was fairly sure his hip and right arse cheek were going to be bruised for a week.  He carefully checked Sherlock’s head with his fingers asking, “Are you alright?” He didn’t feel any bumps and Sherlock’s eyes didn’t look unfocused, so he was probably okay.

Sherlock sat up looking stricken, “Am I alright?  John we really need to work on your reactions to getting yourself injured.  First you get shot, then I fall over on you in the tub and in both instances all you’re worried about is whether you were a sufficient cushion to break my fall.”

John shrugged, “I saw you crack your skull on the wall.  Although, if you are alright, I would really love to get off the floor.”

In the least coordinated and graceful movement John had ever seen Sherlock make, he clambered out of the tub and shut off the water before reaching down and pulling John up.  John’s bullet wound had opened up and there was a bit of blood that John wiped up with a towel.  “Are you alright?  Do we need to take you to the A&E?”

John shook his head, “I’ll be fine, just a little bit of blood.” When Sherlock glanced skeptically at John’s hip, John huffed. “I’m not an old lady, Sherlock; a fall in the tub isn’t going to break my hip.”

Sherlock handed John a towel and started to dry himself off.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t really think that through.”

John let out a bark of laughter, “Two things I never thought I’d hear you say.” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s pouted lips, “It’s fine, love.  Don’t fret.”  John quickly cleaned and covered the wound on his arm before they put on bathrobes and moved out into the kitchen pulling down plates and cups from the cupboard in preparation of the takeaway.  When John was reaching up to get some napkins down as well, he felt Sherlock plaster himself to John rubbing his half hard cock against his back and licking a stripe up the side of his neck to his ear.  “I think I’m ready for round three.” He said.

John turned in the cage of Sherlock’s arms and let his hand trail down Sherlock’s chest and part his robe under the belt so he could wrap his fingers around Sherlock’s cock.  “You’ll be the death of me.” John said, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s lips.  

Sherlock groaned as John started to leisurely wank him, feeling Sherlock’s erection grow rapidly under his fist.  “I don’t think I’m going to get tired of this.” Sherlock gasped.

John grinned at him but was distracted by a throat being cleared in the doorway.  He glanced around Sherlock to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with Evelyn on one hip a bag of takeaway in the other.  “My heavens, boys!” She said, “At my age.”

John and Sherlock jerked apart from one another and quickly covered themselves both blushing furiously.  Mrs. Hudson walked over to the kitchen table shaking her head but grinning as she set the food down.  “You ought to at least close the door or get your doorbell working, I’m not your housekeeper.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Hudson.” They said in unison.  “We really are.” John added, “Terribly sorry.”

Mrs. Hudson tutted but patted Sherlock’s cheek.  “It’s about time.” She said with a wink.  “Would you like me to keep her?” She asked, bouncing Evelyn who was reaching out for John.

“No, that’s alright.” John said reaching for Evelyn and smiling at her, “I haven’t gotten to see my beautiful girl all day.” He pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her hair.  “Would you like to stay for dinner, Mrs. Hudson?”

“No thank you, dear.  I think I’ll just pop over to Mrs. Turner’s for a bit before I take an herbal soother and go to bed.”

John felt himself blush, fairly certain that Mrs. Turner was about to get quite a bit of gossip about Sherlock and himself, well that would be the second person to know.  Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John’s embarrassment and chuckled under his breath.  “Good night Mrs. Hudson.”

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek before coming around and doing the same to John, “I’m so proud of you both.” 

John moved to set Evelyn in her highchair but Sherlock reached out for her, John handed her over and couldn’t help smiling at the two of them, the two people he loved most in this world.  As he watched them chatter away he was reminded of the Dr. Who episode when the Doctor told the Ponds that he could speak baby and wondered for a moment if perhaps Sherlock actually could.  He shook his head and started dipping food onto plates; putting some rice and some mandarin oranges that he essentially pulverized onto a plate for Evelyn.  He loaded Sherlock’s with beef and broccoli (without the beef), General Tso's, and white rice and put the same on his adding his egg roll.  While they ate Sherlock talked about the last case he’d solved, filling John in on some of the details he’d missed along the way.

“That reminds me.” John said, “I’m sure that Greg’s going to either come by tomorrow or want us to stop by the Met to give him our accounts.”  Sherlock nodded distractedly, John wondered where his mind had wandered.  Grinning, he reached out with his foot and ran it lightly up the inside of Sherlock’s calf and ankle.

Sherlock jumped and turned to look at him, “Dr. Watson, I’m surprised at you!” He said sounding scandalized, “And with a lady present to boot!” He said gesturing at Evelyn who was happily smashing her oranges with her fists.  

John laughed, “She’s a bit young to understand the implications of that.”  His phone went off before he could say more and he glanced at it.  “Message from Greg.” he said.  “Speak of the Devil.”  

He opened the message:  **How’d everything turn out?**

John grinned and sent back,  **Far better than I could have imagined. ;)**

“Did you just send Lestrade a winky face?" Sherlock groaned.  "Are you telling him we had sex?” 

“What? How did you know I’d sent a winky face?  And no I did not tell him we had...” John glanced at Evelyn “S-E-X.”

Sherlock scoffed, “As you just pointed out, she’s a bit young.”

“But she’ll start copying things we say soon enough.  Rubbing your leg under the table where she can’t even see it is pretty different.”

Sherlock huffed, “Whatever you say, John.”

What John had hoped would have been a clever rebuttal was interrupted by a text from Greg.   **Good for you mate.  It’s about time.**

**Cheers.** John responded.  

When they'd finished eating  Sherlock said, "Why don't you take Evelyn up to bed and I'll wash up the dishes and put the food away."

John grinned at him, "I should have started shagging you ages ago if that's all it takes to get you to do the dishes." 

Sherlock blushed (John’s brain pointed out how utterly adorable he looked when he blushed) and scowled at John.  "So you're allowed to say shagging but I'm not allowed to say s-e-x?"

John laughed, "Point taken." He said as he picked up Evelyn from her chair and wiped her hands and face. "We should probably make those swear jar words as well." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple, his curls tickling his cheek. "See you in a bit. Thank you for taking care of dinner."

Sherlock grabbed John’s elbow and pulled him back to him, pressing a kiss to his lips, chaste and sweet.  He pulled away a moment later and cleared his throat before pressing a soft kiss to Evelyn’s head.  Sherlock took her tiny fingers in his and John watched Evelyn wrap hers around his long forefinger, “Goodnight sweet Princess.”  he said pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles that left John’s heart aching, “Sleep well and let Sherlock and Daddy have a lie in, yes?” He grinned and wriggled his eyebrows at her causing her to erupt into giggles.  

John rolled his eyes, “Don’t get her all wound up before bed or she’ll never fall asleep.” 

“Right.” Sherlock said straightening up, “Off to bed with you, Evie.  I shall endeavor to conquer the dishes.”  

John headed upstairs and got Evelyn into pajamas and she fell asleep quickly.  John wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky as to have a child who was so go about falling asleep and staying asleep but he was immensely grateful.

When he came back downstairs he saw Sherlock standing in the kitchen with his back to him washing dishes.  He couldn’t help the stupid grin on his face as he came up behind Sherlock and put his hand on his back.  Sherlock jerked away from him, his body tense as a live wire.  The tension flowed out a moment later, barely long enough for John to have known it was there in the first place.

“Alright?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded, “Sorry.  My mind was elsewhere.” 

John stopped Sherlock’s washing the dishes, “Let’s finish tomorrow, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded again and followed John back to the bedroom.  They both slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and slid into bed under the covers facing each other.  Sherlock seemed to be a million miles away and John lay watching him, wondering  where he was and what had happened to him there.  After what felt like a small eternity, Sherlock blinked at John and John smiled back brushing his frizzy curls off his face.  “Welcome back.” John whispered softly.

“John, I think it’s time for me to tell you what happened while I was away.”

“You don’t have to, love.  I won’t say I don’t want to know because you and I both know that would be a lie, but if you’re not ready you don’t have to tell me.

Sherlock swallowed and reached out across the space between them to take John’s hand in his.  He looked at John’s fingers in his rather than John’s face and John felt a prickle of foreboding race up his spine.  “If we are going to have a relationship, I think I do have to tell you.” Sherlock said softly.  “I don’t want to make the same mistakes Mary did; you need to know who I am and what I’ve done before we go any further.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrgh, this chapter. I just don't even know what to say, this was a particularly challenging one for me to write. If nothing else this story is definitely stretching me.
> 
> I would just like to add that this chapter is pretty dark, I don't want anyone to be caught off guard. It references Sherlock's time away and the torture he endures as well as some of the acts he may have hypothetically committed.

_Sherlock_

Sherlock closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories from the time he'd been away, Sherlock had shoved the memories down into a room in the basement of his mind palace so he never had to think about it.  “You should know,” he said softly, “Leaving you, _tricking_ you, was the hardest thing I have ever forced myself to do.”  He swallowed, “I know it didn’t seem like it when I got back and I know you didn’t understand but it was the only way to protect you, John.  He had snipers trained on you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson there was nothing else I could have done.  And they were watching you, John, always watching to make sure you looked like you were in mourning, always making sure you thought I was dead.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at where their fingers were entwined; looking at John’s short, steady fingers wrapped around his own keeping him grounded in the here and the now; keeping him out of the darkness.  “John, I know you didn’t want to know about Mary’s past and I can leave her out if you’d like, but she is a part of this story, too.”

Sherlock watched as John swallowed and then nodded his head once, tersely.  “Whatever you need to tell me, you can, Sherlock.  She’s dead and gone now, there’s nothing you can say that will change the love I have for her.”

Sherlock nodded, relieved he didn’t need to keep anything hidden from John, he wouldn’t go into any of the details beyond what was necessary but it was easier to be able to be honest all around.  “Before I say anything else, you should know Mary truly loved you.  She loved your lives together and nothing changes that.”  Sherlock cleared his throat, “She was the ultimate validation for my keeping you in the dark about my disappearance; I’d wondered when I first got back if not telling you had truly been necessary, if perhaps I should have told you not long after my disappearance.  I started to wonder if maybe he hadn’t had anyone left watching you; I thought a hundred times about telling you.  But eventually I found the truth about Mary, you were a target.  Moriarty assigned her to you to make sure that I was actually dead.”  The look of surprise that crossed John’s face made him want to swallow the words again before they could inflict more pain.  Sherlock hurried on, “It would have been a beautiful love story, worthy of one of your paperback novels, to be sure.  The assassin finds the man she is supposed to kill should a certain set of circumstances come to pass and begins to make him trust her and fall in love with her, only to fall madly, deeply in love with him in return.”

“How long?” John croaked.

Sherlock blinked at him, “How long what?”

“How long did you know that Mary was targeting me?” he asked.

Sherlock looked down at where their fingers lay on the bed still entwined, John gave his a reassuring squeeze and rubbed his knuckles with his thumb.  Sherlock took a deep breath, “I knew when she shot me.” He looked up in time to see the hurt and betrayal flash through John’s eyes.  “She really did love you, she shot me to protect you from the people she’d once worked for.  Furthermore, if she hadn’t _truly_ loved you she would have shot you the night I showed up.  Shooting me served two purposes, the initial purposes we’ve discussed regarding Magnussen but it also was her only chance at broadcasting for anyone out there who might be watching her that she was still loyal to Moriarty, thereby protecting you.”

“Maybe you should start further back.” John said softly, “Maybe you should tell me about what happened in the years after the fall and we’ll work our way up to Mary.”

Sherlock nodded and felt his throat constrict slightly at the thought of those two miserable years away from John.  “It was terrible,” Sherlock said softly, “Those two years away from London, away from home, away from you.  I missed home dreadfully, and I only had occasional contact with Mycroft to ground me to here.  We’d formed the plan with Moriarty together from the beginning but my end required a good deal more leg work and sacrifice than his did.” Sherlock looked up at John and said softly, “At the time, I could only see the game, could only see what it would mean to defeat Moriarty to bring down an entire web of terrorists and criminal masterminds.  I couldn’t see what it would cost me to do it, I wanted to play hero which wasn’t something I’d really ever thought about before I knew you.  I’ll never forget that day, the day I told you heroes didn’t exist, the day I realized you thought I was one.  It changed me, or rather it opened me up to a part of me that I had buried a long, long time ago.  So I set out to prove myself, to be the hero you saw, to prove to myself and to you that I could be.  

“I worked my way across the continent and even through parts Asia and America; I was shot at more times than I care to count, was challenged in hand to hand combat, and had to outwit real genius, criminal masterminds who have built entire empires around them.  I’d forgotten how to work alone, the first couple months when I didn’t have anyone guarding my back and running at my side were especially difficult.  And there was no one there to stitch me back together and check me for serious injuries.  Once in a small town in China called Manzhouli I was captured and the man systematically broke every bone in my right foot trying to get information from me.  It was excruciating, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite that horrible.” Sherlock winced as a flare of phantom pain attacked his foot, spasming along his arch and shooting out through his toes.  “I spent a fairly substantial amount of time in my mind palace during that process, trying to walk the streets of London in my mind, recalling every detail I had on file about you.  The man who was torturing me realized the pain wasn’t getting him anywhere so he started waterboarding me.

“You told me once that you didn’t have to use your imagination when I asked what your last thoughts before dying would be.  You told me ‘Please God let me live.’ were the words you would say and had said.  They were not mine.  I am not the strong man that you are I didn’t want to continue to live and continue to fight; I wanted to die, I wanted it to be over.  A man showed up, though, he’d been hunting the man who was torturing me, and he distracted the man sufficiently that I got my hands free and around his neck and I squeezed.  I felt the flesh and bones under my hands, I could feel the way his trachea shuddered as he fought to breathe, the way his body spasmed beyond his control as he clawed at my hands and struck out at me.  I could feel his life draining from his body, I always thought that was a hyperbole that it was some over-sentimentalized codswallop; but it wasn’t, I could actually feel him dying.  And I wondered if that is what a hero was, if what I was doing to this man was heroic or if it just made me the same kind of evil that he was.  In the end, it didn’t matter, I killed him with my bare hands.  With my bare hands.” Sherlock could feel tears seeping from the corners of his eyes and realized belatedly that his hands were shaking in John’s and gripping his far too tightly.  As he started to release his grip a bit, John pulled him in close to his chest.  

“Shhh.” he said softly, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and rubbing his back soothingly.  Retrospectively Sherlock realized it wasn’t just his hands that were shaking but his entire body, his entire transport rebelling against him, rebelling against the memory of the atrocities he’d committed.  “It’s alright.” John said.  “You’re alright, you didn’t do anything wrong.  You killed a very bad man who had hurt a lot of people and would have continued to do so.  It’s something everyone is capable of, no matter how they see themselves.”

“It was terrible.” Sherlock whispered, half to himself.  “And do you know what the only thing I could think of after I’d killed him was?  After his body had fallen to the floor, lifeless and I couldn’t stand, couldn’t move from exhaustion and guilt?  All I could think was that Sally Donovan was right after all, I had finally killed someone and proven her right.  Sometimes when I see her now I think I ought to tell her, I think she ought to know that the things she saw and the things she thought about me weren’t entirely untrue.”

“Yes they are.” John said fiercely.  “Don’t you dare think a thing like that.  Don’t believe for a moment that if you put Sally fucking Donovan in your situation that she wouldn’t have murdered that man more brutally than you did and don’t believe for a moment that she would have felt even a modicum of the regret and the guilt that you carry with you every day because of it.  Sally is a person who dictates her life by the law, she would have seen it as self defense and wouldn’t have lost a wink of sleep over it.  But you, you are beautiful and good and light; you are the furthest thing from a sociopath that I have ever known.”

Sherlock closed his eyes as the words washed over him, the forgiveness and the acceptance; the lack of judgement and condemnation he could not give himself.  “He was the first person I killed but he wasn’t the last.”  He waited for John’s hold to loosen on him, for John to stop stroking his hair and trying to sooth him.  When it didn’t happen Sherlock swallowed and went on, “The killing got easier and easier and when I couldn’t find a way to get the local police to work with me and arrest them no matter the evidence I’d piled against them, or I couldn’t get the criminal to back down with bribery, I would kill them.  I wasn’t kidding at your wedding when I said I planned friends and acquaintances deaths; I’d planned and executed sixteen deaths in the time I was away.  I’ll never be caught, I’ll never be punished for them because the governments these criminals were under wanted them gone as much as I did.  

“But with every death, I felt myself becoming less and less worthy of your constancy, of your friendship.” Sherlock felt John draw a breath to speak but pushed on regardless.  “Then I was captured in Serbia; Serbia is where I got the scars you see on my back.  It’s strange, but I felt at the time like I deserved it; like it was the just punishment for a man who’d done the things I’d done.  Even if I did them for the sake of goodness, my actions weren’t good.  Every lash of the whip, every ounce of blood, every stinging sensation, every tear was a step on the path to redemption.  In the end it was a small price to pay to feel worthy of you again because there was no life for me without you.  Mycroft found me there a week after I’d been captured and I was home a few days later; you know all the rest.”

John’s hand stilled on Sherlock’s back and Sherlock mentally braced himself for John’s rejection of him.  

“When you first came to find me,” John started slowly, “That was just a few days after you’d been beaten?”

Sherlock nodded, relishing John’s warmth soaking up the closeness for the few remaining moments that he could.  John’s body stiffened against him, and with one last deep breath, memorizing John’s smell and the way his skin felt and the sound of his beating heart, Sherlock decided to grant him the courtesy of moving himself so John wouldn’t have to say it.  He slowly slid up so he was propped on his elbow looking down at John, he couldn’t quite bring himself to look in John’s eyes so he stared at the freckle on his collarbone instead, “John, I know you proposed marriage and I accepted but I understand that this knowledge changes things.  I couldn’t bear the thought of the two of us entering a relationship without you having all the data, without you knowing the truth about me.  I won’t hold you to the thoughts you’d had before you knew the monster I’d become.”

“Look at me.” John’s voice was as hard as steel and had that commanding tone in it that Sherlock could not refuse.  Sherlock looked up at John, he looked completely wrecked, like his world had been turned upside down and he couldn’t bear it, “Is that what you think?” To Sherlock’s horror he saw a tear drip from the corner of John’s eye, he’d never meant it to go this far, he should have told John sooner; he shouldn’t have been so weak, so blinded by hateful sentiment.  “You think you’re a monster?” John asked his voice breaking slightly, “Sherlock, I was in the army.  I’ve killed people, more people than you.  I killed a man to save your life within the first two days that we met.” Sherlock felt his body trembling once more, hardly daring to believe the words that John was saying.  He felt John reach up and run a hand through his curls and Sherlock’s entire body ached and he caved, giving up the battle to keep his tears in his eyes, he let them leak from his eyes and down his cheeks unchecked.  “What you did? The horrors you were forced to face and to endure, you faced them for me, and for Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson.   You fought for the people you love without a thought for yourself, it was selfless and brave and good.” John swallowed and Sherlock saw that sadness grow in his eyes again, “I wasn’t thinking about what you had done, I was thinking about what I did when you came back.  I was thinking about what you had just suffered and the suffering I imposed on top of that.  I was so blinded by my own anger and by my own pain that I never stopped to think what this had cost you.  I thought you were out having an adventure without me.”

Sherlock blinked, “It was understandable.  Your anger and frustration, upon further reflection on my part, made sense and I should have foreseen it.  You had every right to be mad, John.”

“But I hurt you, too.” John whispered.  “I wouldn’t even listen to you.  I probably tore open all your wounds again and you never said a word about them to me.  I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you came back.” he said softly.

Sherlock tentatively pressed a kiss to John’s forehead and felt all of the tension flow out of John’s body as John reflexively started stroking Sherlock’s hair once more.  “I’m sorry.” he said again, his voice filled with horror.

“It’s fine.  You didn’t know, there was no way for you to know.”

“But it's not just that.  I’m sorry I thought the worst of you, I’m sorry I thought that you just ran off to chase Moriarty and that it was all fun and games.”

Sherlock shrugged, the knowledge that John wasn’t going anywhere, that John didn’t hate him making him feel giddy.  “I’d never given you reason to feel differently.”

“Of course you have.” John said.  “You showed how much you cared about me over and over, I was just too blind to see it.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Not before I jumped, I despised what I felt for you.  I pushed and pushed you, and even though I cared I went through pains to hide it.  Sentiment is weakness and I knew that if any of our enemies found out about it they wouldn’t hesitate to destroy you.  Look at Moriarty, look at Magnussen; they both knew you were my weakness, my pressure point, my heart.  I didn’t think I could risk getting you hurt, I thought by keeping my distance I would keep you safe.”

“What changed?” John asked, rubbing his fingers lightly over Sherlock’s wrist.

“My pushing you away didn’t make you less of a target.” Sherlock answered with another shrug.  “What was the point of denying myself the pleasure of being close to you if it didn’t protect you anyway?”  

“Glad you worked that out.” John said with a half grin.

“I didn’t necessarily work that out on my own.” Sherlock confessed.  “I still feel that way sometimes, especially when I think about having Evelyn at risk because of me.” He said softly.  “It still feels selfish.”  John’s hands continued to stroke soothingly at Sherlock’s spine and Sherlock continued speaking, “Lestrade was actually the one who convinced me it was safer for you if you were near me because then there was no commute if something were to happen.”

John shook his head and tugged lightly at Sherlock’s curls, “I’m not a damsel in distress, you know.  No matter what Magnussen thought.” Then he snorted, “Although, if you are the Knight according to Moriarty and I’m the damsel in distress according to Magnussen, that must make Lestrade the Fairy Godmother.” Sherlock watched in amusement as John tried to stifle his giggles and failed.  Sherlock locked this moment away in his mind so he could go back and visit it later; this perfect, beautiful moment in which John was happy, and at peace, and in love.  This moment in which Sherlock was certain he himself had never felt happier.  This moment which could have been so very different if John hadn't accepted his terrible past, if he'd rejected him the way he had Mary after she'd shot him.  He never wanted to let this moment go, he would delete anything to keep it.  

When John got his giggling under control he said, “But seriously, I’m not a damsel in distress.  You don’t need to worry about rescuing me, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“That’s true, but you’ve been taken hostage multiple times with the knowledge that I would come to save you; when our foes suss out my weakness, you are always it.  And as handy as you are with a gun and with your fists you can’t fight poisons and other toxins.  Your being kidnapped is almost an inevitability at this point, I’m afraid.  Although,” Sherlock said, trying to lighten the mood, “It could conceivably go both  ways, while statistically I am less likely to be kidnapped for a myriad of reasons, research has shown I am more likely to be injured on cases without you than I am when you are with me.”

John grinned at him, “I’ll remember that the next time you tell me that I’m thinking too loudly.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “The fact that I am less likely to get injured doesn’t change the fact that sometimes you are simply thinking too loudly for me to concentrate on whatever I’m solving.”

“I never really understood that.” John said pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s nose, “But you’re brilliant and I will do my best to keep you safe and let you think.”

John yawned, and Sherlock noted how tired he looked, they had gotten up rather early he supposed.  “Go to sleep.” Sherlock said softly.  “We can talk more in the morning if you want to know more.”

John nodded, “I am feeling rather tired.” He ran his forefinger along Sherlock’s nose and Sherlock smiled.  “I love you.” John said.  “Very, very much.  Thank you for telling me.”

“I love you, too.” Sherlock said.  John rearranged them so he was wrapped around Sherlock's back pulling him in close to his chest before pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock's spine.  John was asleep in moments snoring lightly and Sherlock happily followed suit feeling lighter and freer than he had in a long time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry for the delay between chapters, work has been a bear the past couple of weeks and I just haven't had any time or energy to devote to things I actually enjoy. I hope the following chapters will be worth the wait. I'm imagining three or possibly four more chapters but you never know, sometimes the story gets away from me and decides it needs more written.   
> At any rate, enjoy!

_ John _

John enjoyed sex in its many forms, but he really, really loved morning sex.  He loved waking up next to his partner, he loved how warm and smooth skin felt after it had spent all night under the covers, he loved the messy hair, and he loved the slow easy pace.  There was a certain level of vulnerability and trust that had to be present for morning sex and John loved the intimacy of it.  

So imagine John’s delight upon waking to find Sherlock grinding that frankly spectacular arse against his erection.  His hair was a riotous mass of curls and his skin looked like it was glowing in the early morning light.  At some point, John wasn’t really clear on the details, Sherlock had rolled over so his back was glued to John’s front and had positioned his arse right on the bulge in John’s pajamas.  John groaned and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder with a smirk, “Oh good.  You’re awake.”  Without so much as a good morning, Sherlock reached back and worked to pull John’s pajama bottoms down his hips.  John caught on and kicked his legs completely out of them.  When he turned back he realized Sherlock had already taken his off and was met with Sherlock’s entire, gorgeous body naked against his.

John let his head fall forward to press kisses to the top of Sherlock’s spine.  Sherlock arched against him and whimpered, pressing his arse back against John very interested cock again.  “You’ll be the death of me.” John groaned, his hand sliding first around Sherlock's body and brushing up his abdomen before his fingers found Sherlock's nipples.  He pinched the erect buds between his fingers lightly, rolling them and listening to him moaning and feeling his breathing increase erratically.  After a moment he release his nipples, much to Sherlock's dismay and caressed down Sherlock’s body to grip the prominent ridge of his hipbone and still him so John didn't come from his rutting alone.

John could feel the self-satisfied smirk Sherlock was wearing in every line of his body as Sherlock lifted his leg and reached back to pull John’s cock so it was nestled between his thighs and buttocks.  John couldn’t help the involuntary thrust of his hips when Sherlock clamped his thighs around him tightly. “Fuck, Sherlock.” John panted.

“Not quite.” Sherlock replied, then John felt a lube-slick hand reaching down, coating not only his cock but Sherlock’s inner thighs as well. 

John wrapped his right arm around Sherlock’s chest and pulled him tightly back against him, He left his left hand slip down to palm at Sherlock’s erect, leaking cock.  Sherlock moaned and his head fell back exposing his neck to John who nipped at it lightly.  John thrust his hips, the head of his cock pushing at Sherlock’s balls and driving Sherlock forward into the loose fist John had made.  Sherlock moaned, “Is this what you were hoping for this morning?” John asked before he scraped his teeth lightly along Sherlock’s ear lobe.

Sherlock groaned and nodded.  John squeezed Sherlock’s cock a bit more tightly as he continued to thrust, “How long did you lay awake thinking about this?” John asked, Sherlock shuddered against him.  “How long were you waiting for me to wake up just imagining my cock sliding against your sensitive skin?  Rubbing your perineum, pushing at your balls, and maybe once in awhile, if I work very hard at it, touching that beautiful little hole.”  John took this opportunity to adjust his thrust a bit so his cock was positioned between Sherlock’s buttocks and the shaft was rubbing at his hole.  

John rubbed his hand slowly up Sherlock’s cock and gave the head a twist before stroking back down again, spreading Sherlock precum down his cock, working him in time with his thrusts.  Sherlock started wriggling against him and John brought his hand to the head of Sherlock’s cock and rubbed his thumb around the tip while grinding against Sherlock’s hole.  

Sherlock was moaning and writhing against John with abandon and John could see the flush that had spread across his neck and chest.  He wouldn’t need too much more before he toppled over the edge.  John ran his nose along the spot where Sherlock’s neck met his shoulder and licked at it lightly.

Sherlock bucked into him, hissing, “Yesss.” as John bit down on the flesh there, not hard enough to break the skin but definitely hard enough to leave a mark.  He soothed the reddened skin with his tongue before sucking at the skin again.  Sherlock threw his head back and keened, “John!  I’m going to...” John felt his cock begin to pulse in his hand as Sherlock moaned his name and shuddered, spilling his come all over the sheets.  John continued to work him through his orgasm pulling at his cock until he’d wrung every last bit of Sherlock’s come from him and Sherlock was shuddering with sensitivity.

It was no longer than half a minute before Sherlock pulled out of John’s grasp and rolled over so he was on his hands and knees with his bum up in the air, offering John the same position but with a better view.  John of course obliged him and moved so he was kneeling behind Sherlock and brushed his hands up over his back and then back down along his sides.  He pushed his cock back between Sherlock’s thighs and Sherlock clamped down tightly once more.  John brought his hands to Sherlock’s hips and groaned as he held him in place.  

Watching Sherlock writhing under him, John wasn’t able to resist touching more of that magnificent body for long.  After another moment John released his hips and ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s spine feeling the firm muscles under his hands, admiring the raw power in Sherlock’s body.  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” John groaned out.

He moved his hands to Sherlock’s glorious arse currently on display for him, rubbing and squeezing the globes in his hands.  Sherlock whimpered under him and tipped his hips back further in obvious invitation.  John groaned and separated Sherlock’s buttocks with his thumbs to admire the perfect little ring of muscles, just the thought of breaching Sherlock made something stir in the pit of John’s stomach.  He brushed one thumb very gently over his hole which was slick from the lube Sherlock had spread on his cock and thighs when this morning tryst began. 

Sherlock’s hips juddered backward at the contact. “Mmmmm.” Sherlock moaned in that deep rumbling baritone, pushing back against John’s thumb.  “Yes, John.  Just a little, just push in a little.” he begged. 

John groaned feeling his balls tense up and electricity zing up his spine.  He pressed just the very tip of his thumb into Sherlock’s hole, Sherlock shuddered against him and his thighs clamped down even more tightly against John’s cock and John came.  More from the thought of a part of him being even the tiniest bit inside Sherlock than anything else.

He flopped down on his back beside Sherlock, panting hard and Sherlock moved to snuggle into John’s side, still covered in their collective releases.  In spite of the stickiness John pulled Sherlock close and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Good morning.”

Sherlock chuckled, still a bit out of breath himself, “Morning.”

“That was rather vigorous as far as morning sex goes.” John said with a giggle.

Sherlock looked up at him, poking John in the chest with his pointy chin, “Did I get it wrong?”

John brushed the curls out of his face and felt love unfurl in his chest for this ridiculous, beautiful man, “Of course not.  That was exquisite.”

“You think so?” Sherlock asked, blushing a bit.

“Yes.” John said with a nod. “No doubt about it.  But if we’re going to shower before Evelyn wakes up we better hop to it.  I can’t imagine she’ll sleep for much longer.”

Sherlock groaned piteously but allowed John to tug him out of bed and grab the baby monitor before they got into the shower, kissing languidly as they scrubbed one another clean.  

They were just turning off the shower when Evelyn’s cries reached their ears.

John hopped out but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his arm, “I’ll get her.  You make breakfast.”   

Sherlock pressed his lips to John's and John smiled against his lips. "I love you." John said, his grin still plastered across his face when Sherlock pulled away. 

Sherlock's lips quirked up on the side and he slipped into his robe and left the bathroom. John dried off slowly and left the monitor on so he could listen to Sherlock and Evelyn talking to one another, Sherlock rumbling at her while she giggled at him. This was never what John had expected his life to look like but suddenly he was overwhelmed with thankfulness that this is what it had become.  He could never have asked for more, this was everything he never knew he wanted and then some.

 

After they’d finished breakfast John asked, “What have you got on today?”

Evelyn was perched on Sherlock’s lap and he was making faces at her to get her giggling.  Sherlock looked up from Evelyn, “I’ve got an experiment with toenails happening in 221C that I really ought to check in on.”  He shrugged noncommittally, “The data may already be corrupted as it is, I should have worked on it yesterday.”

John grinned at him, “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.”

Sherlock mock scowled at him, but couldn’t keep the grin from pushing up the corner of his mouth either.  

“I think Evelyn and I are going to take a walk to Tesco’s in that case.  We’re running low on some things.”

Sherlock frowned, looking dubiously at him, “Am I meant to accompany you on tasks such as these now?”

John laughed, “No need.  I think we’ll manage just fine on our own.”

“Take my card.” Sherlock said waving his hand vaguely at the living room as though John was meant to know where his wallet was.  

Sadly, John knew exactly where Sherlock’s wallet was.  Mrs. Hudson may not be Sherlock’s house keeper but it seemed John was.  “Maybe we should get a joint account.” Sherlock mumbled thoughtfully.

John laughed, “We’ve been dating for a day and you already want to share a checking account?”

Sherlock looked at him, befuddled, “What does dating have to do with it?  It just seems impractical to have separate accounts when we pay for everything together anyway.” he paused clearly lost in thought for a moment, “We probably should have done a joint account years ago, for that matter.”

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips simply because he was happy and because he could.  “I love you.  Evelyn and I will be back in a little while.”

Sherlock grinned and kissed him once more before popping down to 221C.

John got Evelyn in her coat and put her in her pram before heading out and walking to Tesco’s.  It was a beautiful day out, the sun was shining and it was warm; it matched John’s disposition perfectly.  

He was walking down the street whistling at Evelyn when he heard the scream.  His head jerked up and he saw a woman across the street at edge of the park calling out for someone named Aiden, she had an unmistakable tone of panic in her voice and John jogged across the street toward her without a second thought, “Are you alright?” he asked.

“No.” she gasped, shaking her head frantically.  “My son is missing.”  She called out for him again and John glanced around the playground, it looked empty.  “Oh God.” she was crying now.  “I turned to find my mobile in my bag and when I looked back up he was gone.”

“Alright.” John said.  “It’s alright.  Here take my mobile and call this number.” he handed her his phone with Lestrade’s information pulled up.  “He works for the Met, he’s a Detective Inspector.  When he picks up tell him John Watson told you to call and tell him where we are.  You wait here in case he comes back and I’ll check the edge of the woods in case he’s just playing in the trees.”  He looked down at Evelyn sleeping in her pram, “She should stay asleep, she can just stay with you while I check the trees, yes?”

She nodded, “Thank you.”

John set off toward the trees, calling out for Aiden.  When he neared the edge John heard a child sniffling and headed into the woods a bit, “Aiden?” he called again, thinking that perhaps the child would be just beyond the tree and the mystery would be solved.  “My name’s John, your mum is very worried about you, why don’t you come out and we’ll go back to her?” 

He moved to the other side of the tree and found a child’s jacket laying on the ground, as he bent down to pick it up the jacket he felt a prickle of adrenaline sliding up his spine.  John’s hearing sharpened and he looked up in time to see and figure in black emerge from the trees before darting forward and stabbing him in the neck with a needle.

He tried to lash out against his assailant, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate and he collapsed to the ground in a worthless heap.  The last thought he had as his world went dark was that Sherlock had been right, he was way more likely to be poisoned and kidnapped.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sherlock_

Sherlock was quite satisfied with the sheer amount of work he’d gotten done this afternoon.  Far from being ruined, his toenail experiment had made unexpected advances he may have missed if he’d checked on it yesterday.  He’d finished that experiment and started a second with some of the eyeballs Molly had graciously procured for him.  Only time would let this experiment mature.  He glanced at his phone and frowned, it was 6:30 and John hadn’t even come downstairs to see what he was doing; what else could he possibly be doing?  Sherlock stood and headed up the stairs to the flat calling out for John but once he got there he realized the flat was empty.  He looked around the flat and saw Evelyn's binkie still on the living room table, the breakfast dishes were still in the sink, and the kettle remained where John had set it down this morning after making them tea.  Nothing had changed since he had gone to 221C to work on his experiments.

His heart fluttered against his chest, “Mrs. Hudson!” he shouted as he raced back down the stairs.

“My heavens, Sherlock,” she said poking her head out the door.  “What is it?  Honestly.”

“Have you seen John?”

She shook her head, “Not since this morning.  He popped down to see if I needed anything from the shops.  He must have forgotten to fetch me my honey.”

Sherlock shook his head, “I don’t think he’s come home.”  He felt his stomach churning uncomfortably and pulled his phone out and dialed Lestrade.  

“Sherlock?” Lestrade answered after the first ring.  “What is it?  You never call.”

“Have you heard from John?”

“Nope, not since last night.” he said, sounding bored.  Sherlock could hear him flipping through paperwork on his desk.   

“I think he and Evelyn have been taken.”

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."  He could hear Lestrade chewing something through the other end of the phone, “Put the donut down Lestrade.” Sherlock snapped irritably, “I need you to start tracking him.”

Lestrade swallowed, “Alright, alright. Where was he going?”

Sherlock put his coat on and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.  “He was on his way to Tesco’s with Evelyn and they haven’t come back.”

“What time did they leave?”

“10:37.”

“Any ideas who could have taken them.”

“Four.” Sherlock said.  “Call me if you discover anything.” he said as he closed his phone.  He began walking toward Tesco’s, searching for anything even remotely out of the ordinary.  There were more people out than usual since it was such a pleasant day and Sherlock found himself narrowing his eyes at each person until he deemed they couldn't have had anything to do with John's disappearance.  He needed to narrow it down.  He dialed Mycroft.

“Hello, brother dearest.  To what do I owe the pleasure?  Calling with a happy announcement?”

“John’s missing.” Sherlock said, “Evelyn is, too.  I need you to track his phone and check CCTV footage between Baker street and Tesco’s.”

A moment later Mycroft said, “You’re practically on top of his phone from what I can tell.”  Sherlock looked around him, he was on the street outside of a bakery and across from a park.  Had John stopped into the bakery and forgotten his phone inside?  The bakery looked empty and the cakes on display in the windows didn't look incredibly appealing.  Additionally, John had been trying to subtly lose weight the past few weeks; nothing much but he'd shifted his diet a bit and had started walking to and from the clinic everyday.  It was more  likely John had taken Evelyn for a walk in the park because the weather had been so mild.  Or maybe something had lured him there.  Sherlock could feel his anxiety rising as he jogged across the street toward the park.

“Someone’s hacked the footage.” Mycroft growled through the other end of the phone.  “It was on a loop for twenty minutes from 10:54 until 11:14.  Let me see if I can get footage from a different source.  I’ll call you back.”

“Mycroft, wait!” Sherlock said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.

“What is it, Sherlock?”

“Has there been any sign of Moriarty?  Did we have any confirmation that he actually died in the bomb Mary set off?”

Mycroft was silent on the other end and Sherlock growled at him, “Tell me this instant.  This is not trivial, Mycroft, there is nothing I won’t do to get John Watson back.”

“I am well aware of that Sherlock.” he said wearily.  “There have been whispers but nothing confirmed.  We don’t know if he is dead or not, we didn’t find any human remains in the wreckage from the bomb.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, “You didn’t find _any_ human remains?  Why haven’t you told me about this?” Sherlock seethed.  Suddenly, the options for who had picked up John and Evelyn narrowed away from the human traffickers they’d taken down yesterday and away from the gang whose leader John and Sherlock had sent to prison a few weeks ago and turned to Moriarty and _Mary_.  If there hadn’t been any human remains found, was Mary actually dead or had she been playing them all along?  “Find that damned footage and get me any information you have on the whereabouts of someone matching Mary's description who seemingly just popped up out of nowhere.  She must still be in London if she’s alive.”

“I do have other responsibilities, you know.” Mycroft huffed.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said, his voice lowering dangerously, “Be very glad that I am not in the same room as you at the moment and be very grateful I am more concerned about John and Evelyn’s well being than I am with beating you to a bloody pulp.  If any harm should befall either him or Evelyn, know that I will hold you personally responsible and I will not rest until I _destroy you_.”

Mycroft scoffed but Sherlock could hear the underlying tension in his voice, “I will do what I can.” he hung up without further ado and Sherlock moved into the park looking at the ground that had obviously been trampled by someone at the entrance.  The grass was lying flat and the mud had been smeared around as though someone had done a great deal of pacing, obviously anxious about something.  

Just to the left he saw a set of tracks left by a pram, upon examining the tread more closely he knew it was the same model as the pram John had purchased for Evelyn.  He stood and moved into the park, it looked as though not many people had been here today.  It wasn’t a high traffic area regardless and on a Tuesday most people would have had to work.  

The tracks made by the pram stopped abruptly and disappeared but the set of footprints that had marred the ground at the entrance moved toward the shrubs blocking the park from the road.  Sherlock followed them and saw the pram tipped over and mostly covered by the greenery.  His heart started beating wildly as he pulled the pram out, terrified of what he would uncover under the shrubs.  Sherlock had never been afraid death or injuries before but his mind was imposing all of those horrific images on John and on Evelyn.  Sherlock fought the sudden urge to vomit as he pulled it out of the bushes.

His breath came out in a rush when he loosed it from the shrub and found it empty except for a blanket and John’s mobile.  

With shaking hands Sherlock picked up John’s mobile and unlocked it, there was a new message from an unknown number and when he opened it a link presented itself.  Sherlock clicked the link and held his breath as an image came to being on John’s screen.

“Hello, darling!” Moriarty’s voice sang through the phone.  “Someone’s been a very naughty boy.” he tsked and waggled his finger at Sherlock.  “Don’t you know it isn’t nice to sleep with someone else’s husband.  My, my, where has this world’s manners gone, didn’t Mummy teach you better than that?”  He grinned at the camera and chewed on his gum for a moment, just staring through the lens at Sherlock.  

“So, here’s how it’s going to be, Sherlock.” Moriarty continued.  “I promised to burn the heart out of you, I know it was an eternity ago, but you remember don’t you, darling?  You remember the first time we met?  I know I do.” He laughed for a moment, “Oh it was thrilling!  Of course it was, you are such a clever boy but not as clever as me.  No, my dear, never as clever as me, _always_ a step behind.”  Moriarty laughed again, “You thought you tricked me when you jumped off Bart’s,” he tsked.  “No, darling, no.  I knew what you were doing, I knew what you and big brother had planned.   _Lazarus_.” he said with disdain.  “Not a very clever moniker if you ask me.”

“Haven’t you been bored without me?  You must be, your brain must be positively _rotting_ .  You can’t possibly be content sitting at home playing wifey when you could be out _slaying dragons_ .” He giggled again before his face returned to the mask of anger, “I’m disappointed in you.  I had such high hopes that you would be different, but just look how long it took you to understand what _Mary_ was doing.”  He groaned, “Boring!”

“And now she has them.” he said with a giggle.  “She has your heart Sherlock.” he taunted, “and she _doesn’t love him_.  She is more than ready to hurt him, to slice him open, to carve his heart out and crush it in her fist.”

He laughed again and sighed, “Oh but I’ll tell you where he is." he paused and raised an eyebrow at him.  "You’re probably wondering what the catch is.” He grinned at him, “I’m going to tell you where I am, too.  You have twenty minutes and a choice, you can save John and Evelyn _or_ you can capture me.”

He hummed for a moment, “Not really a tempting option, catching me, of course.  I’ll probably just escape again so I’ll give you a little extra incentive.  If you choose your heart instead of your head, at the twenty minute mark I will start moving and I will systematically _blow up_ buildings where I can rack up the highest body count every three minutes until you find me.”  He shook his head, “The question, darling, is what would a _hero_ do?”  

“Don’t think about sending someone else to catch me, if _anyone_ but you walks through the doors I will blow up the twenty buildings I have bombs in.  If anyone except you walks through the doors to retrieve John and Evelyn, Mary will kill them both.”

He giggled, “There is no way around this choice, darling.” He blew Sherlock a kiss, “You have twenty minutes.”

With that the video closed itself and two locations popped up on a map at opposite sides of London, appearing as a blinking heart and a blinking crown.  He could get to either location in just under fifteen minutes, but Moriarty was right getting from one to the other was not a possibility in the time allotted.  

His own words from years ago echoed in his mind, _This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head._   Sherlock called Mycroft and set off toward the crown blinking on the map.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is always challenging for me to write authentically even when I am just writing everyday life; I have studiously avoided writing Sherlock's POV for cases because I cannot do him justice. This is my best attempt at "case" Sherlock thoughts and concrit is most welcome. :)


	16. Chapter 16

_ John _

John came back to consciousness rather more slowly than he would have liked but once he did he was almost certain he was still unconscious or maybe he had just been dreaming in the first place.  He was laid on the floor in an abandoned warehouse after having been kidnapped and Mary (now a brunette, but undoubtedly still her) was sitting in the chair in front of him cuddling Evelyn.  Maybe this was just an elaborate dream his subconscious had concocted after his long talk with Sherlock.  Mary is dead he reminded himself, and they had spent a good deal of time talking about the likelihood of him being kidnapped.  And Sherlock had revealed Mary’s motivation for being in his life in the first place so perhaps his brain was just attempting to process whether or not she was a villain.

“Mary?” John asked, his voice gravelly from the time spent unconscious.

Her head snapped up from where she was watching Evelyn to look at John and she leveled a gun at him.  “Hello.”

“I… What happened?  Are you real?”

She sighed and lowered the gun slightly, “Yes, I’m real.  You’re the only person I know with first hand experience of people dying and coming back to life, you’d think you would handle it a little more gracefully by this point, dear.”

John stood on shaky legs and started to move toward her, she raised the gun again.  “I’m afraid I’m under very strict orders to keep you where you are.  Sherlock should be here in no time to claim the two of you.”

“I don’t understand.” John said.  “Whose orders are you following?  How are you still alive?”

“It was part of the plan all along; you both needed to believe Moriarty was dead and the agreement was that my role was done once you thought he was truly dead and you would never need to see me again, regardless.  My death was of little consequence.”

“You faked your death?” John asked, his mind reeling.  “Why?  What about Evelyn?  What about me?”

She smiled a bit at him then and for a moment John could see the woman he’d fallen in love with, “You didn’t need me, John.  You are doing so well without me, I’m happy for you and Sherlock by the way.  Honestly.” She looked down at Evelyn and ran her fingers through her blonde curls, “Leaving her was a lot harder than you, but Sherlock’s looked after both of you, she seems to be just fine.” She looked back up at John, “And in a few minutes Sherlock will come to save you, I’ll let you go with him, and I’ll be out of your lives for good.”

“But why are you doing this?” John asked.

She shook her head, “Things from my past that you didn’t need to know.  I wish you’d stayed asleep and you could have remembered me as I was before all of this.  Sherlock probably wouldn’t have even told you it was me, he’s always trying to protect you from the things that will hurt you.”

“But why are you holding me at gunpoint?  Why are you making Sherlock come to rescue me if you’re just going to let us walk away once he gets here?”

She sighed, and in the sigh John was reminded of just how very similar Mary and Sherlock could be when exasperated by his ignorance.  “You know I worked for Moriarty, right?” she asked.  “It’s just because he wants to prove a point, to prove that Sherlock’s heart has overcome his head, that he is just as dull as everyone else.  He’s making Sherlock choose between you and hundreds of other lives but of course he’ll choose you, he will always choose you.  And now he has this beautiful little girl, too.”

“Mary, just explain what’s going on.  What do you mean he’s choosing between me and hundreds of lives?”

A phone began to ring and Mary shifted Evelyn to her hip and pulled a phone out of her pocket, she put it on speaker so she could keep holding Evelyn and keep the gun trained on John.  “Yes?” she answered.

“Mary.” it was Sherlock’s voice through the phone, John was surprised to hear.

“Oh hello, Sherlock.  I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.  How did you get this number?  Did big brother find it for you?”

“Yes.” Sherlock replied before hurrying on to say, “I know everything.”

“Hmmm.” Mary hummed noncommittally, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Andrea Grace Reynolds-Alexander.” Sherlock rattled off.  “I know who you are, or rather who you used to be and I know about your ex-husband Stephen and daughter Jamie.”

Mary paled, “How?”

“Does it matter?” Sherlock asked.  “I knew Moriarty had to be holding something over you.  I know you care for John and I know you love your daughter.  You are a good person, Mary.  You don’t want to do the terrible things you’ve been coerced into doing, you and I both know that.  After you shot me you I made it a point to figure out who you were, and through a great deal of research I figured out what your name had been before you moved here.  I thought he had simply used you once you left the CIA, I’d thought perhaps you’d simply gone into freelance work; not as uncommon as one might suppose.  But I was wrong, wasn’t I?  There's always something; it's always the emotional factor I miss.  Moriarty found you while you still worked for the CIA, you worked for him on the side before you left.  Then he sent you here when I jumped because you had the skill sets he needed to manipulate John.  He forced you to stage your own death and sent you here, he would have killed your family otherwise.  He’s doing the same thing now isn’t he?  He’s told you he has snipers trained on them and if you don’t kill John and Evelyn when I’m not there in twenty minutes he’s going to murder your widowed husband and child.  Am I right?”

Mary had tears streaming down her cheeks, “You better be on your way here, Sherlock.”

John heard a desperate laugh crackle through the phone, “I’m not.  How can I let hundreds or possibly thousands of people die?  Especially once I knew it was  _ you _ who had John and Evelyn.  I believe in you, Mary, I  _ know  _ you.  I know it’s terrifying when he threatens the people you love,” he laughed without mirth, “You’ve seen the lengths to which I have gone to protect the man I love.  I have agents on their way to get Stephen and Jamie out, they’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Mary shook her head, but John noticed she’d lowered the gun to her side, “I’m sorry, Sherlock.  Your promise isn’t enough for me to know my family is safe.”

“John and Evelyn are your family, too.”

Mary shook her head sadly, “Nothing is going to happen to Evelyn, but I’ve _always_ known there was a distinct possibility that John Watson was going to die; I’ve prepared for his death.  I have done terrible things to protect Stephen and Jamie.”

“I’ll have it confirmed!” Sherlock said, the desperation evident in his voice.  “Please, I’ll have them phone you when they’re in protective custody.  Promise me you won’t hurt them when your family is safe.”

“I want to hear their voices.” she said.  “I want to hear Phillip and Jamie, I won’t believe they are safe just because someone calls to tell me they are.  If I haven’t heard from anyone in,” she looked at her watch, “ _ Nine  _ minutes, I’m sorry but there is no choice, I’m shooting John.” She looked at him, “As much as I don’t want to.”

“They’ll be safe, I promise.” Sherlock said, he sounded as frantic and frightened as John had ever heard him, “Tell John I love him.” and John was certain he could hear the tears in Sherlock’s voice, there was nothing that could have stopped him from responding.

“I love you, too.” John said loudly so the speaker would pick him up.

“John?  Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”  There was a pause and John heard shuffling at the other end of the phone.  “I’ve got to go but I’ll be there soon.  I love you.” the phone clicked and went dead.

John looked at Mary who had slumped a bit in her chair, tears still streaming down her face.  “This must be terrible for you.” John said softly.

She looked up at him, seemingly a bit surprised. “That was what I always loved about you, John Watson.  Your ability to empathize with people no one else understands.”

“I wish you’d told me.” John continued.  “We could have helped, Sherlock and I.  You didn’t have to marry me and go through all of this.”  John wanted to go to her, to offer her some comfort and support.  Knowing what Sherlock had done for him and knowing what he would be willing to sacrifice for Sherlock and for Evelyn made it easier to empathize with Mary and with what she’d done for her other family.  “You were wrong, you know.” John said, “If this,” John said gesturing vaguely with his hands at Mary, “Was what was on the flash drive I wouldn’t have hated you when I finished.  Felt angry and manipulated, I’ve no doubt, but I would have understood that you were doing this for people you love.  I would have helped you, I still would.  It probably would have made more sense than the daft theories my brain concocted on it’s own.”

She shook her head at him, “I really did love you, you know.”

John nodded, “Just not the way you love Stephen.” he swallowed, “If we’re being honest, I loved you, but not the way I love Sherlock.”

She smiled at him through her tears, “Well, I’ve known that for years.”

John glanced down at his watch, “So in four minutes you have to shoot me?”

Mary swallowed and nodded, “I’m sorry.”

“Any chance we could just fake it?”

She shook her head, “He has precautions in place, I have to connect a device to you that will relay all of your vital signs, or lack thereof, to the snipers watching my family.  The device will only relay information when it’s connected to an actual dead body.”

“Right.  Well, we’ll just have to trust Sherlock to get word to us, then.” John said.  “You’ll keep Evelyn safe, won’t you?” 

Mary nodded again and tears leaked out of her eyes, “I promise, Moriarty told Sherlock I would kill both of you to ensure he came but I won’t let anything happen to her and he knows it.  Although, if Sherlock doesn’t show up here I’ve sworn to take her with me and never let Sherlock see her again, it was the only way he would let her live.”

John reached out across the space and took Mary’s hand in his.  “How long have we got?” Maybe he should start thinking about her as Andrea, now, he thought idly.

“Two and a half minutes.” 

John reached out for Evelyn, “Can I hold her for a minute, just in case?”

Mary nodded and held out Evelyn to John who reached out for John, “Hello, love.” John said softly.  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her close to his chest, his chest felt like it was expanding and about to burst.  “I love you.” he said softly.  “And no matter what I always will.”  He looked up at Mary, “She can’t see this.”

Mary nodded, “I’ve got a playpen in the next room.  Stay here, yeah?”

John handed Evelyn off to Mary.  Once she was out of the room he stood up and crept toward the door, he stood just out of Mary’s sight line and braced himself.  He heard her watch beep and heard her saying as she was coming back in the room, “How should we do this?  Do you have a preference?” 

He heard the chamber of the gun click into place and as she walked through the door he wrapped his arms around her and caught her in a headlock.  “Did you really think I was just going to let you kill me?” he asked.  “Knowing what you know of a parent’s love for their child?  Knowing what you know of my love for Sherlock?”  He reached for the muzzle of the gun to disarm her but she grabbed his arm and propelled his body over hers so John landed on the floor on his back, his breath rushing out of his chest.

“I’d hoped you were smarter than this.” Mary said shaking her head and aiming her gun at him, “I will do whatever it takes to protect them and you know it.”

John swiped his leg at her and knocked her off her feet to the floor, her finger hit the trigger as she went down and she fired a shot into the wall.  Mary quickly re-aimed at John from where she was laying on the floor, as he scrambled up and grabbed her wrist.  Her reflexes were quicker than his and as he grabbed the butt of the muzzle of the gun to turn it away from him and another shot rang out; he didn’t even feel it for a moment.  But he looked down and saw bloody soaking through his denims, she must have grazed his thigh, his leg was burning but John had been shot before and this was a walk in the park compared to that.  

He quirked a grin at Mary as he managed to get the gun out of her hands and toss it across the room, “Going to have to do better than that.” 

She lunged at him again and punched him in the thigh over the wound.  John gasped and his vision went black for a moment, she took that opportunity to push him to the floor and wrap her hands around their neck.  The irony that John had always thought her hands looked like healer's hands was not lost on him. A moment later, as John started clawing at her wrists, her phone started to ring.  Both of them froze and her grip slackened slightly.  “You should get that.” John gasped out.

“Don’t fucking move.” Mary panted at him, keeping one hand around his throat she struggled to get her phone out of her pocket.  “Hello?” she snapped.

John could hear Sherlock through the phone, he sounded out of breath and John could hear a lot of wind in the background. “They’re safe, Mary.  You have my word.”

“Your word’s not enough.” she said squeezing John’s throat more tightly.

“Why’s there all the wind?” John choked out, completely befuddled by where he could be that the wind would be making that much noise.  His heart sank as he remembered the last time he had a conversation with Sherlock with that much wind present, “Sherlock Holmes, if you are on a bloody rooftop you get off there right now or so help me, God.”

“Got to go.” Mary said interrupting.  “Have someone call me or he’s dead.”

She clicked the phone and John took advantage of her momentary distraction and wriggled out from under her, twisting her wrist and pushing up on her palm in a way that could break her wrist forcing her hand away from his throat.  

The tousle continued neither one seeming to be able to gain the upper hand, John rather thought it was to his detriment that he had no interest in killing her or he might have had better luck.  Honestly, he was surprised at how good of a fighter she was.  “You’re really quite good at this.” he commented when he’d pinned her to the floor.

She grunted and went for the gunshot wound in his thigh once more, applying as much pressure as she could with her thumb.  John jerked away from her and she quickly got out from under him, “I was in the CIA, what did you expect?”

John shrugged, “Don’t know, but you were sometimes the least coordinated person I knew.” John laughed, “Remember that time in my office when you tripped over the leg of my desk and dumped boiling coffee everywhere?”

“Are you trying to distract me?”  She kicked out at him, a solid kick to the abdomen that had John reeling back toward the wall.  Without further ado she reached down and picked the gun up to level at John.  

“Are you really going to kill me Mary?” John asked.  “After Sherlock told you that your family is safe?”

“I was quite specific about speaking to one of them.” she said with a shrug, she didn’t lower the gun but didn’t fire it either so John counted that as a victory.

“I’m sure there was a good reason they didn’t call.” John said.

Mary laughed, “A reason like him not having them.”

“Do they even know you’re still alive?  From what Sherlock said it sounds like you’d faked your death.”

Mary shook her head, “It was safer for them.”

“You say that, but trust someone with experience in that area, it’s worse not knowing.  I’m sure it tore their lives apart.  How long have you been away from them?”  John shifted his weight onto his right leg, trying to alleviate some of the pain in his left from where she’d grazed him.

“Six and a half years.”

“I’m sorry.” he said softly.  

“Not as sorry as I am.” she cocked her gun again and John closed his eyes.

The door burst open not a second later and Sherlock barreled through, “Stop!” he gasped, panting for breath and putting himself between John and Mary.  “Here.” He held out his phone to her, on the screen there was a video feed of a man and a girl who looked like she was about 11 years old.

“Oh my God.” Mary whispered, dropping the gun and reaching out for the phone.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, “They couldn’t get any cell reception where they were and the bloody speaker wasn’t working on their phone so I only had visual confirmation.”  He turned and rushed over to John, “Are you alright?” he asked, taking John’s face in his hands.

John nodded, “I will be.” He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s and his leg decided to give out now that the adrenaline was beginning to leave his system.

“John?!” Sherlock panicked.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.  Just need to get a couple of stitches.  I’m going to have some nasty bruises, too, I think.”

Sherlock glared at Mary, “Really?  You shot him and then used that as a pressure point?”

“My heart wasn’t in it.  I shot him in the leg.” she protested.

“Not from lack of trying.” John said wryly.  “You’ve far more skilled than I realized.” he turned to Sherlock, “Did you get Moriarty?”

Sherlock scoffed at him, “Of course I did.  Mycroft has him now, I don’t imagine he’s going anywhere any time soon.  Where’s Evelyn?” Mary gestured to the door and Sherlock wasted no time fetching her, John heard him speaking from the other room, “Hello, Miss Evie.  I’m here, nothing’s going to happen to you.”

John looked at Mary, who was still staring at the phone as though it was a life line.   “Let me see these humans who you love enough to murder your own husband.”

She glanced at him, looking a bit nervous, “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” he said.  “I would have had a similar difficulties if I were in your shoes.” 

Mary showed him the phone and Sherlock was back a moment later as John admiring her family, he put his arm around John’s waist, “Come on.  The helicopter will take us to the hospital.”

“The helicopter?” John asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock said rolling his eyes and pressing John to start walking toward the door.  “How did you think I got here from the other side of the city so quickly?”

“That’s what the noise was in the phone call.” John said.

“Obvious.”

“Sherlock?” Mary said.

“Hmmm?” he asked, watching John’s steps and cradling Evelyn to his chest.

“Where are they?”  

They climbed into the helicopter and as the blades started whirring and everyone got settled into their seats Sherlock told her, “A city in Upstate New York.  They’ve been living there for the past two years.  Stephen works at a local law firm, was just promoted to partner.  Jamie takes ballet and plays soccer, she has good grades; not that grades really matter at 12 years of age.” Sherlock looked at her and his lips quirked in a grin, “He’s not remarried.  I’ve been told any dates he’s had haven’t been with the same woman more than twice, with one exception whom he went out with three times before breaking it off.”

“It doesn’t matter.” she said looking down at the phone in her hands, longing clearly written on every line in her face.  “Having me with them isn’t safe.”

“Moriarty’s gone.” Sherlock said.  “For good.  Mycroft is putting him in a cell he will never escape.  This is his weakness, you know, he didn’t understand the selfless acts people commit for the sake of love.  He didn’t think I would come after him because he thought I wanted to play the game; he thought he mattered more than John and he didn’t.  He never could.” Sherlock reached over and squeezed John’s hand.  “This helicopter is ready to fly you to Upstate New York after it drops us off, you should tell them.”

“You can all move back and be our next door neighbors, it’s old hat for people to come back from the dead in London.” John said with a grin.  “Then we can be the married ones.”

“You’re getting married?!” Mary squealed at them, clapping her hands.

John looked at Sherlock who was blushing and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Yes, we are.” He grinned at Mary, “I could hardly believe he agreed.”

Sherlock cleared his throat but when he looked at John his eyes were soft, “We ended up just fine after I faked my death.”

Mary nodded, “Alright, alright, I’ll go after we drop you off.  Pushy buggers.” she smiled at them, “Thanks for taking my case, you two.  This turned out better than I could have imagined.”

Sherlock smiled at her, a real smile John noticed, “Just doing our job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter for sure after this, maybe two if I'm feeling up to a little Wedding fluff. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you've enjoyed this work! I has been a blast to write. :)
> 
> This chapter turned out rather more filthy than I'd initially anticipated. It is essentially smut and if that is not your thing, you really won't miss any plot whatsoever if you skip this chapter. It somehow turned into 2 pages of wrap up from the kidnapping and then 8 pages of sex... Sorry?

_ Sherlock _

Sherlock paced the lobby of the hospital with Evelyn as they waited for a doctor to finish checking John over.  They were running a blood panel to be sure that whatever had knocked him out wouldn’t have lasting damage.  Sherlock still felt jittery and anxious.  He’d done his best to hide it in front of John and Mary; tried to put on the bravado that everyone knew him for but the stunt he had just managed was without a doubt the most terrifying thing he’d ever done.  Putting John in Mary’s hands had been a risk, no matter what he’d told her on the phone, after she’d already gone so far to protect her other family.   

Moriarty had been surprised when Sherlock had showed up which made his capture easier and Mycroft’s helicopter had flown him across the city to John and Mary as soon as they'd gotten Moriarty into handcuffs.  In reality John and Mary had only fought for maybe 5 minutes before he’d gotten there, but a lot could have happened in five minutes and Sherlock’s brain had tortured him with every possible scenario on his way to them.  His mind was still concocting scenarios, no matter how hard he worked to shut it down.

A hand on his lower back startled him and he spun around, clinging to Evelyn tightly, every muscle in his body coiled to attack.  

John held his hands up placatingly, “It’s alright.” John said softly.  “Just me.”

Sherlock’s breath rushed out of his lungs and he moved in to lean his head on John’s shoulder keeping Evelyn between them.  John’s hands came up and began to stroke along his back soothingly.  “I’m sorry.” he whispered.  “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright.” John said easily, pressing a kiss to his temple.  “Your nerves are just frayed from the day we’ve had.  I’m a bit on edge too.”

Sherlock huffed into John’s neck, “No you’re not.  You’re completely calm, just like you always are when adrenaline floods your system.”

John laughed and kissed his temple again, “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded against his neck.  When he pulled away he pressed a kiss to John’s lips and entwined their fingers.  Mycroft had sent a car for them and Sherlock fastened Evelyn into the car seat before sliding into the seat in the middle and tugging John in after him.

He wrapped his fingers around John’s again and John stroked his knuckles with his thumb.  “Can you take us home, please?” John asked the driver and they set off without further ado.  

Sherlock’s brain was still racing at warp speed, running over all of the things that could have gone wrong, what he could have done more efficiently.

“Hey.” John said softly, giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze to pull his attention to him.  Sherlock turned his head to look at him, “I’m fine.  Evelyn is fine.  Everything is good.  You’re brilliant and you did everything right, okay?”

Sherlock exhaled and nodded before looking away and staring out the window across Evelyn’s car seat.  John was right, everything had turned out fine but his brain refused to let it go.    

When they got home, Sherlock picked up Evelyn and they went in.  John was quiet, letting Sherlock think and process; Sherlock was always grateful that John understood when to pull him out and when to let him think, often (and he would never admit this aloud.) he seemed to understand what Sherlock needed better than Sherlock himself did.  When they got upstairs they found a new pram set up in the corner and some take away containers on the counter.

"Bless Mycroft for remembering we didn't make it to do the shopping." John said with a chuckle. They ate quickly and in relative quiet; Evelyn was fussy and tired, clearly the day had taken its toll on her as well. "I'm going to take Evelyn to bed and I'll be right back down, alright?"

Sherlock nodded, "I'm fine John. You don't need to be so concerned."

"I'm not concerned." John said as he wiped off Evelyn's hands and face.

Sherlock turned his gaze on him, "Your eyebrows are knit together and you are chewing on your lip, your shoulders are tense and you haven't let me out of your sight since we left the hospital. You're assessing me, doctor. You want me to have time to process everything but are dying to know what I am thinking and feeling." 

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips, "You're brilliant. And I love you. But what you've failed to realize is that I'm  _ always _ watching you. I  _ always _ want to know what you're thinking and feeling.” He grinned at Sherlock and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s once more, “But you’re right, I am a bit worried.  I'll be back down in a minute."

Sherlock felt his lips quirk up in a grin and he nodded. He really did love this man.  Sherlock blew out a shaky breath as the thought of just how much he loved John filled his body; that love comes at a terrible cost to his nerves and sanity at times.  What would he have done if Mary had killed John?  How could he have gone on living and being?  How could he have gone back to the man he was before John, back the life he’d had before John that was so empty?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see John standing at his side, “Come on.” he said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and rubbing his scalp affectionately, “Let’s go to bed.  We can talk or just be together or do whatever you need in there, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded and they went into their room and put on pajamas before climbing into bed.  They laid on their sides facing each other and Sherlock reached across the gap to link his fingers with John’s.  

John was remained quiet, waiting for Sherlock to set the pace, to tell him what he needed.  “I could have lost you today.” Sherlock whispered.  “There were so many things that could have gone wrong.” he swallowed around the lump in his throat.  “I keep replaying it over and over in my mind, all the ways that you could have died, all the ways that something could have happened to Evelyn, and I might never have seen either of you ever again.” he shook his head, “And it would have been my own fault.”

John brushed the hair off his forehead, “Nothing bad happened.  We’re all fine, there’s no reason to think about it anymore.  You were brilliant today.  You saved hundreds of people’s lives, my own included.  No one could have convinced Mary not to kill me but you; you figured out so much about her with so little information available to you.”

“But I trusted her not to kill you.” Sherlock shuddered.  “That could have been a terrible mistake.  When I found her in Magnussen’s office I trusted her not to shoot me, too.  I was so confident I said to her, ‘You aren’t going to shoot me, Mrs. Watson.’ and she raised her gun and did precisely that.  What if I had trusted her not to shoot you and she had?”

“You weren’t trusting her not to shoot me.  You were trusting me not to let her.” John said softly.  Sherlock looked up at him and blinked, he wasn’t sure if that was true.  “It’s what partners do.  They trust one another to have their backs, you needed to save all of those people and my role was just keeping myself safe until you got there.  It’s fine Sherlock, we’re fine.  You made the right choice.”

Sherlock reached out for John and pulled him close, needing to feel him under his fingers, needing to smell him, needing to reassure himself that John was real; he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere.  “I love you.” Sherlock whispered.  “And it terrifies me.”

John stroked Sherlock’s hair but said nothing, letting Sherlock talk and process.  “I don’t know how to do this.” Sherlock confessed, he tucked his head under John’s chin and pressed his nose into John’s throat feeling like he couldn’t get close enough, their very skin was a barrier between the two of them that he abhorred.  “I don’t know how to stop being afraid of something happening to you and I think it’s only getting worse.”  Sherlock sighed, his words getting tangled and jumbled with the other ideas and feelings spinning around in his brain.

“Everyone feels like that, love.” John said softly.  “I’m not trying to trivialize what you are feeling, your concerns are real.  We live dangerous lives and I get scared for you all the time.  You know that don’t you?” Sherlock shrugged noncommittally.  “But even people who don’t lead the sorts of lives we do get scared sometimes.  A car accident, a heart attack, all sorts of diseases, and things can happen and people never see it coming. It’s in our nature to be afraid when we love something, when we hold something so precious and know that it could be ripped away at any moment.” John stroked his hair, “Who we are doesn’t change that fear.  You could retire to the country tomorrow to keep bees and I could be some small town physician but it wouldn’t make you worry less.  You just aren’t used to these feelings yet.  It’s alright to feel this way, you just can’t let it control you.”

Sherlock nodded, “Can we not talk about it anymore?”  John shifted slightly and Sherlock continued, “I know you want to know what I’m thinking and feeling but it’s all a jumbled mess that I don’t even understand and I can’t talk about it.”

“Shhhh.” John soothed, Sherlock realized belatedly that he had gotten himself worked into quite a state.  “It’s alright.  Whatever you want is fine.”  He stroked Sherlock’s hair for a moment as though he was waiting for a response from Sherlock.  “What can I do, love?” 

“I want to feel you.” Sherlock said.  “I want to feel you in every fiber of my being, I want you to imprint yourself in my skin.  I want you to touch me and mark me, I want incontrovertible proof that you have been a part of me.  I want you inside of me.”  John was frozen against him and Sherlock pulled back to look into his face, Sherlock smirked at the look of lust which had overtaken John’s features.  Sherlock tutted at him.

“Hmmm?” John asked, coming back to himself.  John cleared his throat and a flush crept onto his cheeks.

“Yes.  I want exactly what you are thinking.” he leaned in and flicked his tongue over the shell of John’s ear, “I want you to  _ fuck _ me.”

John groaned, “I’m a very bad man.”  Sherlock pulled back to look at John again, John licked his lips, his pupils blown wide already.  Sherlock smirked and John continued, “You’re in an emotional state and I’m thinking about buggering you.  I should be more sympathetic and sensitive.”

“Boring.” Sherlock said and he lunged in to take John’s lips in a kiss.  It was like all of the air in the room was sucked out the moment their lips met and suddenly Sherlock was too hot and completely desperate.  John licked at his lips and Sherlock moaned as he opened his mouth obligingly, letting John lick and bite at his lips and suck on his tongue.  

John continued to snog Sherlock as he reached down and started tugging at his shirt.  Sherlock obliged and helped John pulled it off before reattaching his lips to John’s.  John moved on quickly to yanking at Sherlock’s bottoms and Sherlock squirmed trying to free himself from their grip.  By the time he was finally naked, the sheets had been shucked to the bottom of the bed and were now in a tangle at their feet.  John pulled away a moment later, and Sherlock whined trying to follow his lips.

John rolled his nipple between his fingers and Sherlock’s train of thought and his desire to follow John’s lips was lost completely.  His back arched and he felt a current of electricity run from his nipples straight to his cock.

“You’re gorgeous.” John breathed and a moment later he felt hot, wet lips descend on his nipple to replace John’s fingers.  His hands flew up and he couldn’t help entwining his fingers in John’s hair and pressing his head down to his chest.  

“Fuck John, that’s amazing.” Sherlock panted.  A broken moan erupted from his mouth a moment later when John took the tight bud of his nipple between his teeth and bit down lightly.  “Nngggh.  Yes.” Sherlock hissed, his hips jerking off the bed in search of friction.  John pulled off a moment later and sucked a dark bruise on the side of his pectoral, just over his heart.  “Such a romantic.” Sherlock gasped out.

John bit down on the swell of muscle on his chest, hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to break the skin.  “I’m going to mark you everywhere.” John said looking up at Sherlock with lust filled eyes.  “I’m not going to let you come until I’ve covered you with bruises.”  He slid down Sherlock’s body and scraped his teeth over his protruding ribs before sucking a bruise there, too.  He continued in this fashion, sucking and biting at Sherlock’s skin all the way down his thighs but completely avoided contact in any of the places Sherlock actually wanted him to touch.

Sherlock was filled with euphoria as he brain was flooded with all sorts of chemicals as his pain and pleasure receptors crossed paths.  He wondered vaguely how much manual stimulation was actually required for him to achieve orgasm.  Intrigued, he made a mental note that he and John would have to test this later.

“On your hands and knees.” John growled.

Sherlock felt his heart sink a bit in disappointment, in truth, he had really wanted to watch John the first time they had penetrative sex; he wanted to observe his reactions and categorize his responses.  

“Don’t worry.” John said with a smile and a knowing look in his eyes, “I’m not going to fuck you yet.  I just owe you a few more marks, don’t you think?” he asked with a wink.

Sherlock groaned and rolled over onto his hands and knees.  He knew John was looking at him, admiring all of the skin on display for his perusal and Sherlock felt his cock twitch in response to how completely exposed he was.

Sherlock was distracted a moment later as John’s lips traced his spine, pressing kisses to each of his vertebrae on his way down until he reached Sherlock’s tailbone.  John scraped his teeth across it lightly and Sherlock let out a sound he hadn’t known he was capable of making.  John chuckled against him and Sherlock felt his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh between his buttocks.  “Oh,” Sherlock gasped as his cock, hanging heavy between his legs, dribbled some precum on the sheets and his balls tightened still further, pulling up even closer to his body.  Just thinking about where John’s mouth was caused an intense spike in his arousal.  

John moved away a moment later, “Damn, you’ve got a stunning arse.” he said massaging the globes of Sherlock’s buttocks in his palms.  “You are completely delectable.” John continued as he bent to nip at the fleshy part of Sherlock’s bum.

“John, please.”  Sherlock gasped out.

“Please what?” John asked, running his thumbs between Sherlock’s buttocks and spreading them slightly.

“Ahhhh.” Sherlock felt his hips jerk back into John’s grip.  “I don’t know.” Sherlock said.  “Do  _ something _ .  Please.  I’m going to spontaneously combust.”

“Well we can’t have that.” John agreed but continued running his thumbs along the sensitive flesh between Sherlock’s buttocks, never quite touching him where he wanted it.  “Do you know how many nerve endings you have here?” he asked as his thumb brushed over Sherlock’s hole before stopping its motion and just resting there.

“No.” Sherlock gasped.  And even if he’d known that bit of information he probably wouldn’t have been able to access it at this moment regardless, because he was so overwhelmed with the desire for John to just do  _ something. _

“Me either.” John said.  John rubbed his thumb lightly across Sherlock’s hole, “So beautiful.” John murmured.

He removed his thumb and Sherlock’s groan of protest turned into a moan of pleasure when he felt John’s tongue lapping at his puckered flesh.  He gasped and his eyes squeezed shut as his cock began to leak more copiously.  “Fuuuuh.  Uhhhn.” he babbled as John flattened his tongue and rolled it in waves against his hole.  John pulled back for a moment.  “Fuck.” Sherlock gasped out, looking back over his shoulder at John, “John Hamish Watson you are positively filthy.”

“Not good?” John asked, cocking an eyebrow at Sherlock and licking his lips.

Sherlock groaned, “Who cares about good?” Sherlock let his head fall back to the pillow of his arms and wiggled his arse at John, “That feels amazing.”

John spread his buttocks once more and pressed his tongue to Sherlock’s flesh and even though Sherlock was anticipating it this time he couldn’t believe how incredible it felt.  He gasped again and his hips involuntarily thrust back against John’s face.

John gripped his arse cheeks a little more tightly and continued his ministrations, he swirled his tongue around in a circle a few times before pointing it right at the very core of Sherlock’s being.  

Sherlock froze and held his breath, thinking perhaps John was finally,  _ finally _ going to put some part of himself inside of Sherlock.  But he didn’t.  Instead, with the tip of his tongue firm, he started at the center of Sherlock’s anus and pushed his tongue up toward Sherlock’s tailbone until he was no longer feeling the puckered flesh under his tongue.  Then Sherlock felt the tip of his tongue drag back down until it was touching the center of his hole once more; this time John pushed the tip of his tongue down toward Sherlock’s balls.  John paused for a moment to firmly massage Sherlock’s perineum with the flat of his tongue before turning it into a point again and working his way back up to Sherlock’s anus.  He continued like this, licking at Sherlock with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue all the way around his tiny hole; relaxing the muscles until Sherlock was practically sobbing.  His breath was stuttering as it came out of his chest and he was gasping for air as though he’d just run a marathon.

John pulled back and Sherlock let out a wail, “John.  Please.  Please.”

“Shhhh.” John soothed, running his hand up and down Sherlock’s back, before returning his forefinger between Sherlock’s buttocks and rubbing slow circles around his hole, relaxing the tight muscles further.  “I swear, Sherlock, if you wake up Evelyn and make me go and calm her down right now I will murder you.”

“Her sleeping cycles indicate that for the first hour and a half she is nearly impossible to wake without physically touching her.”

John’s finger paused its gentle massage, “You’ve tested Evelyn’s sleeping patterns?”

“Of course I have!” Sherlock said, completely exasperated.  “I will tell you all about it, even show you my charts later.   _ After you’ve fucked me _ .  If you would be so kind as to bloody focus.”

“Charts.” John mumbled as he went back to rubbing at Sherlock’s entrance.  “Well, try not to scream and moan too loud just in case, yeah?” he said cheekily before removing his finger and blowing lightly on Sherlock’s puckered entrance.

Sherlock tried to be quiet, he really did, but as his hole clenched and unclenched around nothing he couldn’t stop the piteous moan that came out of his mouth.

“You’re hopeless.” John murmured, his lips brushing against Sherlock’s exposed flesh.  Then he reapplied his tongue and all thoughts of being quiet flew from Sherlock’s mind.  John pointed his tongue against his entrance once more and slowly, torturously slowly, in Sherlock’s opinion, pushed in.

Sherlock’s hands clawed at the sheets, “Yes!  Thank fuck.” Sherlock all but shouted.  “Yes.” his chest expanded in relief as John continued thrusting his tongue in and out of Sherlock.  Sherlock could feel his arousal ratcheting up higher and higher as his body worked with John’s tongue to fuck himself.  

Just as Sherlock was getting used to the rhythm and shallow thrusts of John’s tongue, John pulled his tongue back out and fastened his lips around Sherlock's hole and sucked.  It was completely filthy and Sherlock almost came on the spot.  John ran his tongue around the puckered flesh and it seemed he couldn’t resist thrusting into Sherlock’s loosened hole a few more times before pulling completely out and pressing a kiss to the flesh.  “On your back, love.” John said.  

As Sherlock rolled over and flopped boneless on his back, watching as John stripped out of his pajamas.   John grinned at Sherlock, and Sherlock could only imagine the debauched sight he must make.  John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, then pulled back and said, “Next time, I am going to make you come just like that.”

Sherlock shuddered and pulled John down into a frantic kiss.  John’s body brushed against his cock and Sherlock helplessly thrust up against John’s body, desperate for friction.

John drew back and Sherlock heard the telltale snick of the cap on the bottle of lube.  A moment later John’s lube-slick finger was at Sherlock’s entrance rubbing in circles relaxing the muscles further.  “John.” Sherlock groaned.  “Just fuck me already, I’m not going to break.”

John laughed and captured Sherlock’s lips in his as he pushed a finger into Sherlock without much resistance.  “Sorry, love.  You’re dating a doctor, I know how fragile particular areas of the human body are.”  He thrust in and out of Sherlock easily for a few minutes, moving his finger in circles and spreading Sherlock further.  “There are definite benefits, though.” John said as he crooked his finger and brushed against something inside Sherlock that made him thrust his hips down in search of that spot again and made pre-ejaculate leak out onto his belly.

“Fuck.” Sherlock panted.  “What the bloody hell did you just do?”

“Prostrate.” John said and Sherlock couldn’t even bring himself to care about how smug John sounded.

“I’ve read about.  Hnnnngh.  It of course but I didn’t imagine it would feel like this.”

John pulled out but before Sherlock could complain he felt two fingers pressing back at his entrance.  He consciously relaxed and John had no difficulty pushing both fingers inside Sherlock once again.  He continued thrusting and scissoring his fingers, seemingly purposely avoiding his prostate; which, Sherlock reflected, was probably for the best.

John inserted three fingers a moment later and Sherlock groaned at the feeling of fullness, rocking his hips and impaling himself on John’s thick digits.  “You are unreal.” John murmured.  “You are so incredibly sexy.”

Sherlock leaned up and captured John’s lips with his own, kissing him messily for a moment before dropping back to the bed and spreading his legs further in invitation.  “Please, John.  I  _ need _ you to fuck me.”  Sherlock thrust his hips wantonly, fucking himself on John’s fingers, thoroughly enjoying watching John shudder under his words.  

John pulled his fingers out and Sherlock felt irrationally bereft, even though he knew he couldn’t logically fit John’s cock and fingers inside of him; although that was another interesting idea they might be able to try later.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” John said as he pulled a pillow over to put under Sherlock’s hips, “Stop it, right now.  I know that look and it means trouble.” 

Sherlock grinned at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

John grumbled something under his breath, but moved into place between Sherlock’s thighs.  “You’re sure about this?”

“Of course I’m bloody sure.  I also fairly sure if you don’t get your cock inside me this instant I’m going to die.”

“Drama queen.” John tutted but lined his well lubed cock up with Sherlock’s hole.  “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Sherlock groaned, pushing his hips toward John trying to get his cock to breach him.  “If you don’t get inside me I am going to flip you over on your back and ride you.”

John’s breath caught and his hips jerked forward so the tip of his cock was against Sherlock’s entrance.  Sherlock opened his eyes to look at John, “Hmmm.  You like that idea.  I took riding lessons as an adolescent, I’ve got the right core strength and stamina for it.”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock.” John groaned, inadvertently pushing forward just a bit so the tip of his cock  _ finally  _ was inside him.  

Both of them froze for a moment, neither had quite expected it to happen and hadn’t been entirely prepared for it.  John was the first to unfreeze and he slowly thrust forward, Sherlock arched his back as John pushed in, and in, and in.  It felt endless and Sherlock felt completely stretched and full and he loved it.

John stopped and Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at John who was looking down at him with something akin to amazement in his eyes.  “I’m inside you.” John whispered.

Sherlock nodded slightly, his throat feeling tight, “You’re inside me.” he confirmed. 

John reached up and wiped at the corner of Sherlock’s eyes and Sherlock was surprised to feel wetness spread where John’s thumb had been.  

“You’re amazing.” John pressed a sweet kiss to Sherlock’s lips.  “Absolutely amazing.”

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” John said stretching up to press a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

John shifting caused Sherlock’s cock to rub between their bodies and Sherlock arched up and wrapped his legs around John’s waist. “Move.  Now.” Sherlock said, meaning for it to sound like a demand but coming out more as a plea.

John obliged him, bending lower to wrap his arms under Sherlock’s shoulders as he started to thrust slowly inside Sherlock’s body.

“More.” Sherlock asked after a moment when he’d completely acclimated to the feeling of John inside him and his brain started chanting  _ more, deeper, harder _  as his hips thrust back against John.  

John snapped his hips a little harder against him and Sherlock felt sparks fly up his spine and his head snapped back and he gasped.  “ _ Yesss _ .” he hissed.  “Like that.”

He felt John testing different angles and a moment later John lifted his leg up and over his good shoulder before he thrust again and this time Sherlock’s vision went white.  His fingers clawed hard enough at John’s back that he knew John would have marks on his skin tomorrow but John didn’t seem to mind.  He grunted and continued thrusting at the same angle, pushing Sherlock’s leg back and practically folding him in half.

Sherlock was gasping as his body was overrun with sensation; heat was coiling low in his belly and his balls were starting to tingle.  “There we are.” John said, and Sherlock forced his eyes to open so he could look at his lover.  John’s hair was a mess, he was flushed, and his entire body glistened with sweat.  Sherlock was quite certain he’d never seen someone look so stunning.

When his eyes came back up to lock with John’s, John groaned and his hips snapped a bit out of rhythm.  The erratic motion took Sherlock by surprise and he felt a spurt of precome shoot out of his cock as John fucked into his prostate.

“Fuck. Sherlock.” John panted. 

Sherlock felt his world narrowing to just the point of their connection, narrowing to the place John was pounding into him; his pleasure spiraling higher and higher until it was the only thing he could think about, until there wasn’t room for any other thoughts or feelings.  He felt his balls draw up to his body and he could feel them pulsing before his cock began spurting come all over his chest and John’s.  He shuddered and his back arched up off the bed as his body finally gave up the fight and he came.  His internal muscles clamped down on John’s cock and he felt John’s release painting his insides and it caused him to shudder as more come spurted weakly from him in sympathy.  He shuddered as John moved his leg off his shoulder and flopped down on top of him, completely spent but still inside of him.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John but otherwise didn’t move as the two of them tried to catch their breath came down from the intensity of their orgasm.

John started giggling after a moment and Sherlock looked at him affronted, “What are you laughing at?” he said, smacking John’s arse.

He felt John’s cock give a twitch of interest inside of him and Sherlock smirked and raised an eyebrow, “Well, that’s interesting.” Sherlock said, rubbing John's arse a bit.

John blushed, “Shut up.” he said as he pulled out and both of them winced.  

John flopped over onto his back and Sherlock curled up against him, “What were you laughing about?”

“For all of your bluster and noise leading up to the main event you orgasmed without a bloody sound.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Maybe you’d just used up all of my sound.” he said with a yawn.  His brain was pleasantly foggy and he just couldn’t be bothered to think about anything.

John grinned at him, “We’ll see about that.  I’m sure I can milk a lot more noise out of you.”

Sherlock swatted him lightly, “And you said I’m the insatiable one.”

John shifted and started to pull away from Sherlock and Sherlock instinctively tightened his hold on him.

John grunted, “Sherlock, I’m just going to get a flannel.  You’re completely covered in come incase you hadn’t noticed.”

Sherlock groaned but released him, “Hurry.”

John chuckled and rolled out of bed.  A moment later he returned with a warm flannel and carefully wiped off Sherlock’s stomach and chest before wiping very gently between his buttocks.  Sherlock hissed, surprised at the pain.

John winced, “Sorry.” he finished cleaning Sherlock off and tossed the flannel in the corner before handing Sherlock a glass of water and a paracetamol.  When Sherlock had taken the medicine John spread Sherlock’s legs and prodded gently at his flesh.  

After a moment Sherlock realized he was checking for tears and damage.  Sherlock sighed, “I thought it was a kink.” he complained.

John finished his inspection, apparently satisfied, “Pardon?” he said flopping back down beside Sherlock.

“I thought you just wanted to look at where you’d penetrated me, it’s a kink some people have.” Sherlock sighed and turned his head to look at John who was laying on his side facing him, “But you just wanted to doctor me.”

John chuckled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s nose, “Just doing my job.”

Sherlock hummed and rolled over, presenting his back to John who spooned up against him.  “I love you.” Sherlock said as he started drifting to sleep; the hormones flooding his brain suddenly making him exhausted.

“Love you, too.”

And it might have only been the sex and Sherlock’s sleepiness talking but something assured him as he drifted off to sleep that no matter what happened he and John were going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whewww! And that's a wrap. I truly hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you for all of your kindness.   
> Blessings!


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